


Together, Tomorrow

by Sunshinebunnie



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AliceMalice, Alternate Universe, BDSM, Betty POV, Betty's got a little exhibitionist in her, Biting, Bondage, But it's cool because Jug may enjoy watching?, Cuddling, Domestic Bughead, Dominant Betty, Dominant Jughead, F/F, F/M, Hair-pulling, Jughead POV, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Roommates to lovers, Safe Sane and Consensual, Scratching, Sexting, Smut, Use your safe words, alternate universe-canon adjacent?, canon compliant self harm, roommate au, sex on a train
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2019-10-19 16:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 113,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17605037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshinebunnie/pseuds/Sunshinebunnie
Summary: Jughead Jones winds up in need of a new roommate after his current roommate, Joaquin, decides its time to move in with his boyfriend, Kevin Keller. Betty Cooper has recently moved to NY for work and wants to stop living on Veronica's couch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first ever time writing fan fiction. As always, constructive feedback welcome. This work is non-beta'd so all errors are mine. 
> 
> I was going to wait until this entire thing was finished before I posted, but I felt like I've made a decent dent in it to start, and I'm really eager for feedback....so there you have it.

**Together, Tomorrow** (By Sunshinebunnie)

 

The apartment was something of a running-joke-urban-legend at his office. No one quite remembered who first rented it, or when—nor could anyone really explain how someone could get an offer to live there. That being said, Jughead knew for a fact that he was at least the sixth reporter from _The Village Voice_ to have lived there—having “inherited” the sublet and his soon-to-be-former roommate, Joaquin, from one of the digital edition editors after he got married. It was an easy enough living situation, which suited Jughead fine. Joaquin was generally quiet and tidy, when he was home, which was infrequently. He’d tried explaining what he did once, but since Jughead didn’t particularly follow MMA, he had a hard time wrapping his head around the manufactured “hype” write-ups Joaquin seemed to spend months traveling around the country to produce. In all honesty, if not for the fact that Joaquin had specifically left Jughead a note saying they needed to talk, Jug wouldn’t have known until rent was due if the other man just decided to ghost him.

 

Jughead was sitting at their obnoxiously large dining room table—a holdover from one of the 1980s tenants, he thought—when a beer magically floated down in front of him. Luckily, his startle reflex had all but vanished after several stints as a photojournalist in various conflict zones—Syria, Crimea…Baltimore—although it didn’t make Joaquin’s Kitty-Softpaws routine any less creepy some times. “Hey man,” Jug said, taking the beer. “I didn’t realize you were back yet.”

 

“Yeah. A discrepancy came back during the last round of pre-fight bloodwork, so now the camps are trying to decide if they’re going to cancel, or try to change the venue to California or something. Not too much for me to do, so I caught an earlier flight from Vegas to surprise Kev.”

 

Even though Joaquin was practically the Roommate-Who-Wasn’t, the two or three times Jughead had happened to meet Joaquin’s boyfriend, Keven, had _definitely_ left an impression. The jury was still out on whether it was a good one, he thought wryly. 

 

“That was actually kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Joaquin said quietly. If Jughead didn’t know any better, he almost felt like his roommate was expecting him to morph into one of the fighters he covered. He tilted his beer bottle back to take a drink as he patiently waited for the other man to continue. “Kev and I have been talking about it for a while, but we’ve finally decided to move in together. I’m going to be moving out by the end of next month.” The mostly empty bottle in Jug’s hand clinked dully against the table as he set it down, with slightly more practiced care than Joaquin seemed to be expecting.

 

“Wow. That’s…big,” he finally settled on.

 

“Well, we’ve been together over two years. In this post-Prop 8 world, some might consider it overdue.”

 

Although Joaquin’s voice held a slight edge of challenge to it, his eyes held more than their share of kid-on-Christmas excitement. As a photographer, Jughead had long ago come to trust people’s eyes more than their mouths. “Congratulations, man, seriously. That _is_ really exciting news,” he said sincerely. Joaquin visibly grew an inch, as the coiled tension that had been weighing on him lifted.

 

“Thanks, Jug. That really means a lot, coming from you.”

 

Before a companionable silence had a chance to settle over the two men, Joaquin’s soft voice broke through, “So, about getting a new roommate…”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jughead spat out reflexively. “I can figure something out.”

 

“Well, that’s the thing,” Joaquin began again. “Kev might actually know someone who’d be interested, but I told him I needed to talk to you first.”

 

Jughead just looked at his roommate for a second, before waving him on with a universal “continue” gesture.

 

“How do you feel about women?”

 

Jughead promptly choked on his beer. After a few seconds of sputtering, and a few longer minutes of coughing and rigorous chest thumping, he was finally able to froggily croak out, “Come again?”

 

“Kevin’s friend, the one looking for a place, is his best friend from back home in Riverdale; however, she happens to be a female. I didn’t want to assume you’d be cool with that before I had a chance to talk to you.”

 

While he couldn’t say he had any fundamental objections to such an arrangement, Jughead knew he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge some reservations about it. At least insofar as such a situation involved _him_ cohabitating with a woman. Jughead was an admitted weirdo: he tended to dress oddly, but efficiently; he wasn’t especially sociable (‘a potentially _huge_ issue,’ he thought, if she was a friend of Kevin’s); kept insane hours—and just generally gave women a “creepy hobo vibe,” if his best friend’s girlfriend was to be believed. 

 

“Um…can I take a couple days to think about it and get back to you?” he said tentatively.

 

“Yeah, man, sure,” Joaquin quickly replied.

 

—————————————————————————————————————————

 

The extra time to think over Kevin’s-suggestion-by-proxy had not helped Jughead’s cause. None of his three best friends had any suitable leads for him. Fangs had just recently started up a new dog walking/pet sitting business. It was looking promising, but still wasn’t providing a steady enough income from him to move out of his grandmother’s apartment in Queens. Unfortunately, Jug already knew all of Fangs’ stably employed friends, and none were in search of new housing. While his friend had mentioned a couple of his fellow gig-working buddies might be interested, Jughead was a definite “hard pass” on the idea. He’d had more than his fair share of unstable living situations; and although his finances were in pretty good shape now, he didn’t want to potentially risk his housing if his future roommate had a few “slow” months. 

 

Living with Sweet Pea was out of the question too. They’d tried once, after Pea got discharged from the Marines, and Jughead got back from an assignment covering the Arab Spring. Their mutual cases of PTSD had not played well together. They’d decided to call it quits out of safety after some July 4th fireworks lead the taller man to pull a gun on his friend, and Jughead spent the next four days nearly catatonic, holed up in their bathtub. It had been a few years since then, and they’d both been able to get help, but the memory lingered. Ghosts of the past frequently being stubborn things to ever truly erase. 

 

Toni was, perhaps, the least helpful of all.

 

“Remind me again why living with _a woman_ is an issue, Jones,” she’d said drily over her pastry at Balthazar.

 

“Ask your girlfriend,” he’d sniped. “I believe Cheryl’s exact words were that I gave off a ‘creepy hobo vibe.’ So you tell me, Toni.”

 

Jughead was impressed. Toni managed to give him the _hardest_ eyeroll he’d seen since his sister JB turned 13, along with a decidedly patronizing smirk.

 

“Ok, Jug, let’s unpack that, shall we? First, when have you _ever_ taken my Cher-Bear’s barbs seriously? Second, you don’t know. Maybe this Kevin guy is best friends with Emily Lestrange.”

 

He shot her an equally hard eyeroll in return, which she chose to ignore in favor of brushing some renegade elephant ear crumbs off her black tank top. 

 

“Look, J, in all seriousness. It’s not like you to make this type of a snap judgment without any context. At least agree to meet her for a drink, get to know her a little before you decide you couldn’t possibly live with her. It’s not like anyone is suggesting the two of you _date_.”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Toni’s words were still bouncing around his head several hours later as he was strolling through Washington Square Park. He pulled out his phone and sent Joaquin a quick text. ‘No promises she gets to move in, but you and Kevin can broker a meet-n-greet before I make my final decision.’

 

Joaquin’s reply was quick. ‘Will do, man! I’ll talk to Kev and get back to you.’

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Jug didn’t think he’d ever hated his best friend more than he did at this minute. He was a Downtown guy—a Southsider, one might venture to say. It was a point of pride for him that he never travelled further Uptown than the Fashion District, unless it was for work. The fact that the New York Public Library, the MoMA, and the Met were all clearly outside this arbitrarily acceptable “safe” zone didn’t count. Regardless, if not for stupid Toni and her stupid logic—yes, he realized he was being petulant, but being outside his comfort zone did not bring out the best in him—he would not be standing near (but not too near) the entrance to The Algonquin Hotel trying to finish up his cigarette.

 

When Joaquin had eventually gotten back to him, Jug had initially been impressed. He didn’t know if…Betsy? Bella?…Betty? had been thinking about the literary significance of The Round Table restaurant when she’d suggested the four of them meet for dinner, but nonetheless it had tilted the scales slightly more in her favor. At least, it had, until the time came for him to actually show up. 

 

The further Uptown he got on the subway, the more agitated he became. He’d spent his entire youth, adolescence, and early adulthood being looked down on—whether because of his name, his family, his clothes, or his interests. As he’d approached his 30s, the tectonic plate on his shoulder left him with very limited patience for, or willingness to, engage with these bright shiny happy people who never struggled a day in their lives. He much preferred being among his own kind—people who wouldn’t judge him on his ever present beanie, his worn-in black jeans, scuffed combat boots, 80s throwback suspenders, or his beloved leather jacket. People unlike the doorman at The Algonquin, who was giving him side eye so hard that Jughead was honestly surprised he hadn’t called the cops.

 

“Forsythe, this won’t do.” Jughead found himself being chided as he inwardly cringed at the use of his given name. The young Jones man glowered at the man who’d addressed him. 

 

“Kevin,” he gritted out, “I wasn’t aware there was a specific dress code for this event.”

 

The living GQ cover in front of him scoffed. “Hardly. I was speaking about how ungallant you’re being right now keeping my poor dear Betty waiting in housing limbo while you’re casually smoking a cigarette.” 

 

Jughead raised his eyebrow in a sardonic smirk. “You’re acting like I stood her up, Kevin.”

 

“Well, seeing as how the rest of us have been waiting in the restaurant nursing drinks for the last twenty minutes, yes, I’d say that was beginning to become a concern,” Kevin huffed.

 

The Jones man looked at him in disbelief before Kevin waved his illuminated cell phone in front of his face. 6:20 p.m. stared back at him. He cringed. Apparently he _hadn’t_ had enough time for his nerve-steadying cigarette like he’d thought. He quickly crushed the last remnants of his tardiness out against the wall behind him, before surreptitiously dropping the butt on the ground. 

 

As he passed by the doorman to enter the building, he couldn’t figure out which expression he preferred: the one he was wearing when he thought Jughead was a potentially dangerous vagrant, or the appraising one he was currently getting that seemed to indicate he thought he was a rent boy. Although both made him uncomfortable in general, leering, at least, tended to stop at that. Besides, Jughead wasn’t too modest to admit that he knew he was attractive. As he passed by the slightly shorter man, he winked; the doorman’s blush just barely evident as Jughead lost sight of the man. 

 

Kevin wove them expertly through the lobby and into the restaurant—talking the entire time about his admiration for The Vicious Circle. Just as he was beginning to think Kevin had suggested the restaurant after all, he tuned back in enough to register Joaquin’s boyfriend saying, “…and don’t let her cupcakes-after-church-on-Sunday vibe fool you. That girl has more than a little Dorothy Parker and Bettie Page in there.” Just as he was about to ask him to clarify his comment, Jug realized they were at their table where Joaquin and the most gorgeous blonde he’d ever seen were sitting, deep in conversation. A conversation, Jughead found himself suddenly irrationally hoping, that involved him.

 

Kevin briefly cleared his throat, quickly getting their attention. Joaquin merely looked up and gave Jughead a brief head jerk of recognition. The Hitchcock blonde next to him—and truly, Jug thought, there was no more accurate description for her—quickly stood up, momentarily taking a second to smooth down her grey knee length pencil skirt, before extending her delicate hand across the table toward him.

 

“Hi!” she said brightly. “I’m Betty. You must be…”

 

Betty drifted off glancing quickly between Kevin and Joaquin. Clearly, they’d both referred to him by different names, and she was uncertain as to which she should use. Jughead was only mildly awkward as he returned her handshake telling her, “Jughead’s fine,” for which he was extremely proud of himself.

 

“Jughead,” Betty breathed to herself, a hint of her megawatt smile playing at the corner of her mouth, as she committed his name to memory. Part of Jughead—a larger part than he cared to admit—was waiting for the rest of their introduction to go badly. For Betty to poke fun of his name, but then again, it appeared she clearly knew his given name, so perhaps she understood his preferred moniker. All of sudden, he realized she’d started speaking again. “Mine’s actually Elizabeth, but I hate it,” she added sincerely. With that shared common ground, Jug felt a little more of the tension he was carrying in his neck slowly evaporate.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Given his unintended tardiness, Jughead found himself saved from the usual “getting to know you” banalities that normally plagued him at social functions. He always felt like one of those obligatory quest NPC-characters in the RPG video games he’d play with Archie. You never really cared about the actual answers they gave you, just that you needed to choose the 1st answer then the 3rd then the 2nd, before you could move on to what you actually wanted to be doing. Just as he was contenting himself to eat in silence while the three people around him carried the conversation, the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Toni reminded him that the whole point of this meal _was_ to get to know Betty. Internally, he rolled his eyes. He was a photographer, observing people, especially when they least expected it, was kind of his jam.

 

“So, what has you looking for housing?” Jughead casually tossed out after the entrees arrived. He knew it was a blunt question, but better for her to learn that about him now, than to get some unfounded idea in her head. By the way her fork faltered on the way to her mouth, he knew he’d caught her at least mildly off guard. Rather than putting the piece of lamb in her mouth like he expected, Betty delicately placed her fork on her plate, tines up, before turning her wide green eyes to look at him. His skin began to feel vaguely like it was on fire as her eyes first skirted over the top three buttons of his cerulean dress shirt that Cheryl of all people had insisted he buy before sweeping up the left side of his neck with a quick cut to his suddenly parched lips before finally landing on his eyes. He could only imagine what she must’ve seen in them as she took a shallow breath before replying, “A job opportunity came up that I really couldn’t justify turning down. I started a few weeks ago, but I’ve been couch surfing with my college roommate. I love V to death, but I really just need to be more settled than my current situation.”

 

He nodded. Having spent nearly half of high school couch surfing because of his father’s alcoholism and his mother’s indifference, Jughead certainly appreciated the desire to be able to unpack one’s stuff for more than five minutes. To not have to walk on eggshells at “home” lest you offend your host and wind up on the street.

 

“Do you…entertain much?” Jughead tried to ask in the most neutral way he could manage. He wasn’t in the business of slut shaming—not that he was one to judge—but he wanted to be prepared for the possibility of random half- or wholly-naked dudes running around his apartment.

 

“Oh,” Betty’s voice prompted him to return his focus to her. “I’m not really one for parties. Veronica’s always been the social one. She just tends to drag me along…” Her voice started to drift off as she caught sight of Kevin’s increasing smirk to her left.

 

“Oh, Betty. Dear, sweet, innocent Betty,” Kevin tsked. “I think what…Jughead…” Kevin grimaced at using the nickname, “is _trying_ to ask is if you’re all about that Netflix-and-chill life.”

 

Betty stared blankly at her friend, blinking like an anime character, as Jughead began to die a little from a sense of embarrassment he no longer thought he possessed. Joaquin put the final nail in it when he drolly added, “Are you gonna be fucking random people on the regular all over the apartment?”

 

Jug groaned, “Thanks, Joaquin,” as Betty flushed to a fire-engine red color in an alarmingly short amount of time. Jughead decided that unless Betty was the world’s most convincing actress, her absolute mortification over the current line of questioning meant her answer was a resounding “No.” The thought made him significantly happier than he cared to think too deeply about. Before he really had a chance to think about it, he found himself saying, “You’ll understand better about why I asked when you see the apartment…” His voice drifted off as Betty’s eyes shot to his face with an unreadable expression. 

 

“If you’re still interested, that is?” he added uncertainly. 

 

It took less time than he probably thought it did for Betty to answer with an enthusiastic, if perfunctory, nod. He was entranced as he watched her armor relayer itself like a Matryoshka doll.

 

“Does Saturday work?” Betty’s dulcet voice broke through his contemplation.

 

“Yeah, that works. Just text me when you’re about to head over.”

 

He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected her to do next, but pulling a slightly battered-looking steno pad out of her purse was not especially high on his list. His eyes quickly swept over her coiled pose: shoulders hunched as she leaned a little closer toward him, pen poised over the notebook in front of her, head tilted just slightly to hear him better, bottom lip gripped—unconsciously?—in her teeth, as she waited for him to speak. For as jaded as Jughead would admit to being about most things in life, he would categorically deny how mesmerized he was by her hands as they flew over the paper in front of her capturing his address and contact info.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

“But why, B? You know you don’t have to leave…” Betty internally rolled her eyes. Veronica had been pouting ever since the meet-and-greet dinner. It never ceased to amaze Betty. Only Veronica Lodge could whine in a way that made it sound like a business decision. 

 

“I know I don’t, V,” (except she _really_ did), “and nothing is set in stone anyway. I’m allowed to look. The Pembrooke won’t get jealous about me _looking_ at other apartments, right?” Betty said, simultaneously giving her best friend full-on puppy dog eyes along with a half smirk over Veronica’s ridiculous behavior. There was a brief moment when Betty wondered if she’d really hurt Veronica’s feelings by entertaining the idea of moving. It wasn’t like she was unaware of the situation with V’s parents. Abandonment issues were a bit of a sticking point for her best friend. Then she heard the brunette grumble under her breath, “But Downtown? Ugh.” Betty turned her Alice Cooper-trained megawatt smile on her friend.

 

“Thank you, V!” she chirped as she gripped her in an almost manic hug. It was as close to a blessing as Veronica was likely to come.

 

*************************************************************************************

Betty texted Jughead as she was walking to the subway at West 72nd Street to let him know she was heading over, like they’d agreed. His lack of a response started to get Betty’s self-doubt wound up. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he’d found a better roommate. No. She forced the doubts fueled by her mother’s years of psychological abuse to the back of her mind. Instead, she tried to let her own better angels wash over her. She didn’t really know him; he might only reply if something was wrong or the plan changed. Beside, even if he did flake on her, she’d lost nothing. If anything, she would just have an excuse to camp out at The Strand for a while that afternoon.

 

As the train pulled in at the Christopher Street station, Betty checked her watch. Just about twenty-five minutes. At least she knew her commute would certainly be manageable if everything worked out. From the map on her phone, it didn’t look like the building on Jones Street was too far from the station.

 

The walk had indeed been quick. Far too quick for Betty to finish mentally reviewing what she’d learned about Jughead since the dinner earlier that week. She debated whether it made sense to do a few more loops around the block, then chalk up her tardiness to getting lost? No. This whole new opportunity in New York was supposed to be a reboot—a return to the Betty she’d started to become in college before everything went to shit. She refused to let unfounded cowardice creep its way into her decisions. Then, as if the universe was confirming her new, bolder decision-making, a pizza delivery boy exited the building leaving Betty with enough time to grab the security door before it shut, saving Jughead from having to buzz her in.

 

She snuck a quick peek at her steno pad to confirm the apartment as she waited for the elevator. 3BC. Betty shook her head. She could already hear her sister Polly telling her it was a sign—him being Forsythe Pendleton Jones _the Third_ and _her initials_ being “BC.” ‘It’s just New Age nonsense,’ she thought to herself. ‘ It doesn’t _mean_ anything.’ The elevator creaked slowly up to the top floor before the doors opened with surprising fluidity. As she stepped into the hallway, she was struck by how cozy the lighting was—completely unlike the harsh fluorescent lighting at the Pembrooke. Looking around, she noticed three doors—two on her left, and one on her right toward the end of the hall. Walking down the hall, she could hear the faint sounds of an acoustic guitar filtering out of one of the apartments to her left. The melancholy notes from 3A stopped by the time Betty found herself in front of Jughead’s door. She took a deep fortifying breath. ‘All you have to do is knock on a door, Cooper. You’ve done scarier stuff than that. It’s not like this is an unannounced booty call.’

 

The first knock was polite—the type of knock to be expected from Riverdale’s Most Favored Daughter. A quick tap-tap of knuckles on wood and steel. She waited, vaguely hearing signs of life in the apartment. When five minutes passed without any indication Jughead was coming to the door, Betty knocked again: still polite, but a little more forceful. More ‘shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits’ than her previous tapping. By the time she resorted to knocking the third time, she was in full Alice Cooper mode, beating on the door with the flat of her first until she could feel the vibrations from the door all the way up her arm. Within minutes, she heard the distinct sounds of a slight shuffle-jog heading toward the door.

 

As the door swung open, she could hear Jughead’s voice, “Jesus, Pea, it’s five dollars. You’re not gonna die before…” Any anger Betty felt over the tardiness of the man in front of her instantly evaporated as her brain slowly processed his wet hair. Her eyes dropped down his body taking in every glistening inch of his naked torso as she registered his white-knuckle grip on the threadbare grey towel haphazardly tossed around his lithe hips. Quickly sweeping her eyes back up to his face, Betty swallowed a little thickly before she was able to breathe out, “Hi Jug.”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

The searing hot water had felt too good on his achy body after his morning boxing session with Sweet Pea. They weren’t necessarily well-suited sparring partners: clearly not being in each other’s weight class, but they’d long ago decided not to fight with anyone else. More than once, their friendly jabs had turned into full powered swings without warning whenever one or the other had needed to work through something. The knowledge that they could wail on each other but still walk out of the ring as friends had been a lifesaver for each of them on several occasions—even if it had gotten them banned from a few gyms from time to time. He’d been leaning under the hot water, letting the pulsating shower jets work their magic on a particularly sore part of his back when he vaguely registered knocking out in the hallway. ‘Probably Archie’s latest fling,’ Jughead thought in passing. He certainly wasn’t expecting anyone this early in the day, and so far as he knew, Dilton Doiley never had visitors. 

 

He’d just finished rinsing the shampoo out of his hair when an incredibly aggressive knock began rattling his front door. Growling, he turned off the shower, and grabbed his towel off of the toilet seat cover. “I’m never buying the asshole breakfast ever again, “ Jug muttered as he half jogged, half sauntered over to his front door. He was already starting to tell off his best friend as he began opening the door, trying to cut off yet another one of Sweet Pea’s PTSD-induced tirades about not wanting to die with any debts hanging over him. His voice died off as he slowly realized he was _not_ talking to a 6’3” man like he’d anticipated, but a 5’6” blonde woman instead. He could feel the weight of her dilated crystal green eyes like a palpable caress against his skin as Jughead watched Betty drag her gaze down his body agonizingly slowly. When she pulled her lower lip between her teeth as her eyes approached his navel, he gripped his towel tighter, willing his body into thinking about _anything_ other than the woman in front of him. ‘Archie previewing his latest song. Fangs covered in dog food. Toledo,’ he chanted in his mind like a mantra. Just as he thought he’d reined in his suddenly rampaging hormones, he heard her nearly whimper his name as she glanced up at him from under her eyelashes, teeth digging in even further into the plump fullness of her bottom lip. He knew then he was about to do something monumentally stupid.


	2. Apartment Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty gets to see the mystical apartment, Jughead has some issues with nose-blindness, and Archie is an epic cockblock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off--let me say "THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!" for all the love so many of you have shown for this story. I cannot begin to let you know how much your encouragement means to me, other than to say that it has definitely fueled my ability to get more of this journey out to you. I hope my continued endeavors do not disappoint you!
> 
> Second, at least for now, Archie is still going to be a bit of a "third rail" for Jughead when it comes to Betty. I know Bughead has moved beyond that in strict canon, and I promise they're going to get there at some point in this story, but for now, that jealousy/uncertainty that Archie inspires in Jughead when it comes to Betty is going to be a thing. (Hopefully not for too long though! :-) :-) )
> 
> Third, this is unbeta'd so I take full responsibility for any errors.

There was a heat in Jughead’s gaze that Betty had never experienced before. She felt as if her skin was on fire. The stormy blue of his irises was nearly obscured by his blown-out pupils, and she couldn’t look away if she tried. He licked his lips and she felt her core throb. She swore she heard the air between them crackle as she leaned imperceptibly closer to him. His eyes had just zeroed in on her lips when a voice she didn’t recognize broke the silent tension between them. 

 

“Jug! You’re home!”

 

Betty’s eyes swiveled to find the source of the unwanted verbal intrusion. The door to 3A was standing wide open as the human equivalent of a golden retriever puppy was suddenly bounding down the hallway. The somewhat boisterous redhead that was soon standing next to Betty seemed to be both completely oblivious to the throbbing sexual tension between the people standing in the doorway to 3BC as well as unconcerned with any social awkwardness that might exist from Jughead being half naked. 

 

“Hi, I’m Archie,” the ginger said warmly, sticking out his hand.

 

Betty quickly quirked her eyebrow at Jughead before turning to face Archie face on. She was just extending her hand to introduce herself when she registered the man behind her speaking.

 

“Hey, Arch. This is Betty. My potential new roommate. She’s looking into moving into Joaquin’s room.”

 

Betty didn’t dare move a muscle, not trusting herself to keep things “friendly” after listening to the noticeably gravelly timber of Jughead’s voice. Luckily, Archie once again managed to stop her hormones from running away with her. “Oh, cool, man! Well, in that case, this invite is for you too. I’ve got a show coming up next weekend, and it’d be great if you could make it. I’m previewing some new songs…” his voice drifted off as he looked hopefully at Jughead.

 

Jughead took a moment to breathe warily before he added, “Sure, Archie. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

“Awesome! I’ll get you the details later, Jug.”

 

Betty turned her attention back to the dark-haired man she’d originally come to see. Her stomach clenched to find that his earlier heated gaze had been replaced by something noticeably more platonic. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

‘God _love_ Archie Andrews,’ Jughead thought with a sense of thankful bitterness. In all the years since he’d gotten to know his amicable neighbor, Jug had never ceased to be amazed by the other man’s sheer dumb luck at times. Break up with a girlfriend? Sheets weren’t even cold before an even more amazing woman was hopping into his bed. Lost his job? Hadn’t even collected his first unemployment check before he got signed by an indie music label. Life just generally getting him down? His endlessly supportive family would randomly swoop in to cheer him up. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jughead found him to be so damn sincerely genuine, he could have easily hated him. 

 

Part of him really wanted to hate Archie in that moment for having the worst timing on the planet. The more rational—or perhaps just cynical?—part of him acknowledged that Archie’s sudden intrusion into his “moment” with Betty was probably for the best. He needed a roommate, and Betty wanted a place of her own. Neither of those things would benefit from them getting intimately acquainted with one another. Besides, women who looked like her went for men like Archie, not guys like him—and any thoughts that she was even remotely as thirsty for him as he was for her were purely wishful thinking. 

 

With that thought firmly in his mind, he glanced quickly between his neighbor and his potential new roommate before turning his attention fully to his friend. “Hey Arch, if you don’t mind, I’m just gonna…” his voice drifted off as he casually jerked his head over his shoulder back toward his apartment.

 

“Of course! I’m so sorry, man. I wasn’t thinking,” Archie said sincerely, registering his friend’s significantly underdressed state for the first time.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jughead replied. “But maybe you could keep Betty here company for a minute while I finish putting some clothes on?”

 

Archie beamed as he turned his entire focus to Betty, and the young Jones man swiftly walked back into his apartment as his guts started to churn.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

‘Pretty, but dumb,’ kept running through Betty’s mind the longer she stood listening to Archie talk. In short, he was _precisely_ the type of guy that her mother would’ve died for her to date. Someone she would look good standing next to in a Christmas card photo wearing carefully coordinated outfits, but who would otherwise be content not to have much of a say in their relationship. 

 

The thought alone made her palms itchy.

 

Her complete antipathy towards Archie’s obviously hopeful glances aside, she couldn’t find it in herself to shake the unfailing politeness Alice Cooper spent years drilling into her in order to flatly turn down his unspoken question. It was why she found herself prolonging her conversation with her hopefully soon-to-be neighbor, while eagerly waiting for Jughead to reappear and save her.

 

“Wow, I can’t believe that your label lets you workshop your songs at public shows,” Betty said.

 

“When I was first starting out a couple years ago, they didn’t. But now my manager really digs the idea. Says these Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist style pop-up concerts are a good way to ‘build the buzz around my brand,’ and keep my sound authentic.” 

 

Coming from anyone else, Betty was sure what Archie just said would’ve come across as the self-aggrandizing garbage that she was sure his manager intended it to be, but with him, she honestly believed he bought into it. 

 

‘Pretty, but dumb,’ flashed through her mind again.

 

“And God knows, no artist in the history of creative endeavors _has ever_ sacrificed the authenticity of his work for the sake of commercial viability.” 

 

Betty’s eyes flew back to the entrance of Jughead’s apartment to find the man himself smirking at her as Archie clearly struggled to breakdown the meaning behind the sarcastic comment. Betty bit the corner of her lip to keep from laughing, but she couldn’t keep the sparkle out of her eyes as her mind traitorously supplied, ‘Pretty but _definitely not_ dumb.’ 

 

“Well, Archie,” Betty said brightly, “I’ve really enjoyed talking to you. Hopefully we’ll be seeing more of each other. And I look forward to hearing you play at your next gig.” 

 

Archie beamed. “Same here Betty!” 

 

Once again, she was struck with the image of a golden retriever puppy as she watched Archie bound happily back down the hall to his apartment. 

 

She was just about to make a comment to Jughead about her impression when she realized the raven-haired man was no longer standing in the doorway, although the door to 3BC remained propped open. 

 

Confused by Jughead’s absence, but taking the open door as an invitation, Betty pushed the door further open, tentatively calling out Jughead’s name as she stepped over the threshold and into the apartment’s somewhat dark front hallway. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

It had only taken him about five minutes to get dressed when he’d walked back into the apartment, quickly tossing on a pair of blue plaid boxers, some day-old black jeans along with a faded charcoal grey t-shirt and an unbuttoned blue and grey checkered flannel shirt. Then he’d roughly towel dried the last of the excess moisture out of his hair, combing whatever tangles there were out with his fingers before putting on his knit crown beanie. 

 

As he’d started walking back toward the front door, he could hear snippets of Archie and Betty’s conversation from the exterior hallway. Archie oozed wholesome-boy-next-door charm as easily as breathing and Jughead could hear Betty’s tinkling laughter punctuating the breaks in his friend’s inane ramblings. In his mind’s eye, he could already see Betty leaning in, playfully slapping Archie on the arm over one of his cheesier comments, her hand lingering on his bicep or his forearm just long enough to be suggestive as she batted her eyelashes at him. He’d certainly seen it happen often enough before with other women. This was the first time the idea stuck in his craw though.

 

As he’d approached the juncture between the hallway to his front door and the privacy hallway that nearly bisected the length of his apartment, he hung back in the shadows at the end of the hall, silently watching Betty and Archie’s interactions. Even though he didn’t actually see Betty display any of the micro-gestures he’d gotten used to women regularly plying on Archie, he couldn’t stop himself from reading them into the tone of her voice as she kept up their conversation. He consciously chose to ignore the fact that Betty had just about died of embarrassment when he’d probed her personal thoughts on casual hookups at their meet-and-greet dinner. Just like he was also consciously ignoring the fact that Betty’s voice held none of the breathy anticipation that it frequently seemed to take on whenever she spoke to _him_. 

 

‘Women like Betty fall for guys like Archie,’ his mind repeated like one of his sister’s scratched vinyls. Emotionally girding himself with the churlishness that thought evoked in him, Jughead finished walking down the hall and alerted the duo outside his door to his presence. 

 

He knew the jab at Archie’s artistic integrity was a little rude, and certainly uncalled for under the circumstances. So far as Jughead was aware, Archie had yet to make any significant changes to his music just to propel his songs further up the Billboard Top 100 charts. Sometimes during moments like these, he found himself wondering whether being friends with someone as oblivious as Archie was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, he knew Archie wasn’t quick enough to be as offended by the comment as he had a right to be, which was perhaps a good thing, but on the other, precisely _because_ he knew this, he felt less induced to avoid stoking the pettiness that his quickly blossoming jealousy wanted to feed. Jealousy that he knew was going to induce him into doing something stupid if he had to listen to Betty’s continued encouragement of Archie for much longer. 

 

He walked back into his apartment without a word. If there was ever going to be a chance that he and Betty could successfully live together, he needed to get his shit together.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Jughead would not consider himself a stress eater—he simply liked to eat, constantly. If that urge just happened to overcome him more intensely when he was wound up, well, that just happened to be an odd coincidence of circumstance. It was for this reason—his perpetual and undying love of food—and this reason alone that Betty found him half buried inside his refrigerator moments after leaving her and Archie in the doorway. 

 

“Oh my God, Jug,” Betty’s aghast voice washed over him. “Why haven’t you thrown that broccoli out yet? It must’ve been rotting for days.”

 

He extricated himself carefully from the interior of his kitchen appliance. “What’re you talking about? I never buy broccoli.”

 

Jughead studied Betty’s face as she attempted to take the most discreet whiff of the air in his kitchen. Her face twisted. “You honestly don’t smell that?” He shook his head as her clear eyes studied his face. There was a rapt silence between them for a moment until he felt her slender hand carefully move him out of the way giving her the opportunity to poke around amongst his admittedly dwindling food supplies. A moment later, Betty’s hand reemerged from his fridge holding a slim white styrofoam package wrapped in clear ClingWrap-style plastic. As he glanced at the package, he nearly gagged as the most putrid smell his nose had had the misfortune of being assaulted with since spending a week camped near an open pit latrine while on an assignment in Bangladesh registered in the back of his throat.“What in God’s name _is_ that?” he choked out.

 

Betty gingerly handled the decomposing produce while glancing around for Jug’s kitchen trashcan. He quickly took it from her and unceremoniously dumped the hazmat waste in an airtight chrometrashcan tucked away in a pocket pantry. When he closed the pantry door, he found Betty looking at him with a bemused smirk that was utterly captivating. “What?” he asked.

 

“Nothing,” Betty replied with a smile in her voice as she shook her head. Her green eyes studied him carefully for a minute before she added, “Did you seriously forget that you bought riced broccoli?”

 

“What the hell is _riced_ broccoli?” he replied incredulously.

 

“It’s broccoli that’s been really finely diced so it’s got the texture of rice. You know, for people who don’t want to eat carbs?”

 

Jughead just gaped at her. Other that Cheryl Blossom, whom Jughead was convinced lived on the tears of children and unfulfilled promises, he was pretty sure he’dnever met anyone who didn’t like carbs. 

 

Betty reopened the door of his refrigerator, quickly assessing the state of its interior. “I’d say that package was probably about a week and a half or so past its “Use By” date based on how…juicy…it was. Do have any Lysol wipes? You’re definitely going to want to wipe down the shelf it was on.” He shook his head slowly as she turned back around to look at him.“Oh, that’s ok,” she added sincerely. “How about some vinegar and baking soda?”

 

At that, he pinned her with a disbelieving smirk, which she replied to with an equally playful exasperated sigh. 

 

“Well,” she said after a minute, “I guess that means I’m in charge of all the grocery shopping then.”

 

His eyebrows flew toward the brim of his beanie so quickly, Betty couldn’t help but laugh.The melodic sound was something that Jughead could listen to every day; however, Joneses weren’t known for having that type of good luck. In fact, if life had taught him nothing else, it was that there _was always_ a steel-toed, hobnailed boot ready to kick him in the ass when he least expected it. 

 

“Don’t you wanna see the rest of the apartment before you decide to make such a commitment? I mean, eating is practically a second job for me. You should really understand what you’re getting yourself into first.”

 

Betty gave him another sparkling laugh. “Sure thing, Juggie. Give me your best nickel tour.” 

 

Although he knew Betty meant it as a joke, due to the unusual configuration of the apartment, even the “nickel tour” was pretty comprehensive. The kitchen was part of a modified open floor plan with a floating island demarcating the boundary between the kitchen and the living room/dining room area. This combined living space was in turn bisected by a fifteen foot long black melamine dining room table that looked even more obnoxiously large than it naturally was because of the six completely mismatched chairs that managed to only partially surround it. Five of the chairs were perpetually clustered together on the side of the table closest to the apartment’s floor to ceiling windows, but the lone remaining chair always hovered around closest to the wall of the privacy hallway. The entire back side of the privacy hall wall contained row upon row upon row of shelving, each shelf showing unmistakable bowing from the weight of the hundreds and hundreds of books that were crammed—most neatly, although there were a few here and there that appeared to be wedged in awkwardly—on everything usable inch of wood on the shelves. Tucked in against the farthest right-hand corner of the apartment from the kitchen was what appeared at first glance to be a pillar reaching to the apartment’s ceiling, but which had a door at its base, housing a rather sizable bathroom for an apartment in the City. However, the oddest part of the apartment’s layout was the Fendi-like false walls which appeared to abut the apartment’s far wall, but which weren’t actually attached, with tops that stopped a clear four feet short of the ceiling—the whole thing creating privacy “pods” rather than traditional bedrooms. 

 

“It’s part of why the rent on this place is so absurdly cheap. Under the housing code, this place is still technically defined as a studio, rather than a two bedroom apartment,” Jughead had explained in response to Betty’s raised eyebrow when he’d opened the door to Joaquin’s “room.” 

 

“I hope you have a better understanding now about why I was so forthcoming in asking about your dating habits. As I’m sure you can imagine, sound tends to carry rather well in here…” he added rather awkwardly. 

 

In lieu of an actual response, Betty stared pointedly at the toes of her stark white Keds as she garbled out a strangled-sounding “mmhmm.” 

 

They stood like that for several moments: Betty’s gaze transfixed on her feet, while Jughead stared studiously just over Betty’s shoulder mesmerized by the occasional glimpses he was getting of the gently bobbing end of her ponytail. Just as the silence stretching between them was about to take a turn for the oppressive, Betty lifted her eyes to the man in front of her and said, “So, when do you think I can move in?”


	3. Moving In, or Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Veronica is a drunk pouty-puppy, Betty gets a little thirsty, Jughead can't take a shower in peace, and Reggie makes things awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! First off, thank you all for continuing on this journey with me. I hope you still find it worth it.
> 
> Second, for all of you who have taken the time to comment on my work, your words mean the world to me, and they definitely help drive my desire to write this story as quickly as I can.
> 
> Third, this chapter is again, un-beta'd so all errors are mine.
> 
> Sometimes I post things on Tumblr (mostly reblogs at the moment, but maybe that'll change?) If you want, come find me @sunshinebunnie. :-)

Whether by luck or design, Betty’s move-in date for her new home on Jones St. happened to coincide with Archie’s show. 

 

For a man she’d barely spent twenty minutes talking to, he was showing an amazing talent for hijacking her life.

 

“V, this seriously isn’t that big a deal…” Betty tried wheedling her best friend. 

 

“Nonsense, B!” Veronica replied imperiously. “There’s _no_ way I’m going to let you spend your entire day doing _manual_ labor only to then rush around trying to prepare for this solo social function of yours.”

 

“I never said I was going alone,” Betty grumbled under her breath for what felt like the 100th time.

 

Ever since Betty had returned to The Pembrooke after scoping out her new place, Veronica had vacillated wildly between “supportive, but conflicted bestie” mode and “Veronica, Destroyer of Worlds” mode. Although her present attitude wasn’t quite at total “Full Dark, No Stars,” Betty could tell histrionics were not far off if she kept pushing back.

 

“ _Fine_.” She threw up her hands in mock surrender. “Nico and the boys can bring my stuff over, what little there is of it.”

 

Veronica grinned manically. “See, B? Isn’t that better? What’s the point of having staff if I can’t use them to make my life easier?”

 

Betty pointedly arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at the brunette. Veronica barreled on, completely unconcerned with Betty’s reaction.

 

“I can’t have you _glistening_ all day and then throwing on a pair of jeans and a pastel sweater set when we go to this concert tonight.”

 

Betty pulled up short. The only thing keeping her perfectly manicured nails from puncturing the skin of her palm was the soft cotton-wool blend of the sweater she was suddenly balling up furiously in her hand. In her minds’ eye, she could see all of the little micro-tears she was putting in the fabric by her failure to continue carefully packing the sweater away with the rest of her clothes.

 

“Veronica…” the normally affable blonde gritted out.

 

“Oh, just stop!” the young Lodge woman said, steamrolling over any and all of her best friend’s objections. “It’s an open venue, right?” Betty nodded slowly.

 

“Well, then you either _let_ me have this last night of B and V time before _this interloper_ steals you away from me, or I’ll just show up anyway and crash this little date of yours.”

 

Betty’s eyes flew open in a panic as she whirled around to face Veronica. “Wha…who…It’s not…pssh,” she trailed off in the face of Veronica’s triumphant smirk. Betty took a centering breath, closing her eyes, before finally saying in a much calmer voice, “It’s not a date, V. It’s just two friends getting together to hang out…” Just as Veronica opened her mouth to interject, Betty rushed on, “and _I’d love it_ if you’d come along to the show tonight. The more the merrier. I’m sure Archie will be totally cool with it.”

 

At that, Veronica beamed. 

 

*************************************************************************************

It took Betty several hours longer than she anticipated to finish packing—particularly since she didn’t actually have any furniture that needed to be moved. Having to constantly talk Veronica off the emotional ledge was beginning to drain on her. If she was being totally honest with herself, it was this type of behavior that had helped solidify Betty’s resolve to move out of The Pembrooke and into a place of her own. 

 

Ever since college, Veronica had been one of the most vibrant people Betty had ever known. She legitimately believed that she could manifest good things into her life simply by working hard and feeling entitled to them enough. There had more than a few times over the years of their friendship when Betty had envied her unflappable poise and self-confidence. However, there was also an unmistakable dark side to Veronica’s good graces—a dark side that did not always discourage Betty’s _own_ inner demons from running rampant. 

 

Betty paused for a moment from packing the last of her knick-knacks in order to send Jughead a quick text. ‘Hey, just an FYI. Veronica insisted I use moving men to bring over my stuff, AND she wants to us to get ready together for Archie’s show…So, I guess we’ll just meet you over there?”

 

Betty didn’t have to wait long for Jug’s response. “I guess that’s the reason why the Goon Squad is currently darkening my door?” She could feel herself blanching as her stomach lurched. “Ehhhhhhhhh…..” was her only response. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Jughead had _just_ finished washing the shampoo out of his hair when he heard an ominous knocking on his apartment door. He huffed out an unhappy breath as he turned off the water. If all his years of living with FP had taught him nothing else, it was that knocks that sounded _like that_ never had good news on the other end. Things like “You have 30 days to vacate the premises” or “We have a search warrant” tended to accompany knocks like that. It was the type of knock that he’d learned long ago required putting on pants before opening the door. 

 

He dried himself off as efficiently as he could before throwing on a two-day-old pair of jeans, his favorite blue t-shirt with the faded “S” on it, and his beanie before sliding on his combat boots as an afterthought. Once he was done, he walked over to his door and looked through the peephole. His field of vision was almost entirely consumed by the beefy backs of two men who appeared to be wearing some of the most expensive suits he’d seen since Toni twisted his arm into attending the Met Gala one year when Cheryl was cohosting. Cautiously, he opened the door, not bothering with the chain lock. He’d seen doors kicked in before. Repairing the damage to a wooden door frame after it splintered from the base of the chain lock being forcibly ripped out of the wood anchoring point was not worth the hassle. 

 

Jug straightened himself up to every inch of his six foot height before asking “Something I can help you with?” The man standing closest to him turned around with a slight scowl, a sizable cardboard moving box weighing heavily in his arms.

 

“Miss Lodge said these needed to be delivered here,” Goodfellas Extra #1 said, quickly elbowing his compatriot into turning around.

 

The Jones man gave him an inquiring look. “I’m not sure how that’s possible. I don’t know anyone named ‘Miss Lodge.’”

 

Goodfellas Extra #2 started shifting the box he was carrying back and forth. In a much more nasally voice than Jughead would’ve expected for a man his size, he wheezed out, “Not our problem. Miss Lodge said to bring Miss Cooper’s stuff here. So this is where it’s coming.”

 

Jughead casually started leaning against the frame of his door, elbow propped on the frame so that he was taking up even more physical space. A Marine in Sweet Pea’s old unit who had been from Montana told him that was a better way to deal with a bear than running—make himself look bigger than he actually way. It seemed like as good a strategy as any here.

 

“Again, I don’t know any Miss Lodges or Miss Coopers. So I couldn’t begin to fathom why one of them would be telling you to bring the other’s stuff to my apartment.” He’d made extra sure to enunciate each word he’d said carefully.

 

Goodfellas Extra #1 started to growl a little as his face contorted, while beads of sweat—either from exertion or nervousness Jughead neither knew nor cared—began to break out along Goodfellas Extra #2’s closely cropped hairline. Just as the tension from the standoff was starting to leave an all too familiar sick feeling in Jug’s stomach, his phone’s text message alert sounded. He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket, only mildly concerned with the nearly apoplectic looks he was getting from the other men in the hallway. 

 

His mood instantly lightened when he saw Betty’s name pop up in the notification bar. A quick perusal of her message though left him feeling sulkier than he probably should: he wasn’t going to see her for several more hours than he thought _and_ he was going to have to share her with her functionally former roommate. Jughead’s mind rapidly started indexing information as it worked out his current situation. Betty couldn’t move her own stuff in. ‘Veronica’ arranged the movers for Betty. There was now a goon squad standing on his doorstep with moving boxes telling him Woman #1 told them to bring Woman #2’s things over to _his_ place. He deftly typed out his suspicions in his response to Betty while keeping the corner of his eye on the two men in front of him.

 

Within seconds, the ‘read’ notice appeared under the blue bubble of his text, followed almost just as instantly by Betty replying with a blanketing of “dying from embarrassment” emojis.

 

Jughead turned his full attention back to the men in front of him as he put his phone back in his pocket. Sweeping his arm in a wide gesture, he said neutrally, “Sorry for the confusion, guys. You are at the right place.” 

 

A vein began bulging in Goodfellas Extra #2’s forehead as flecks of spittle collected at the corner of Goodfellas Extra #1’s mouth. As the two men shoved unceremoniously past him, Jug finally understood better their annoyance about standing out in the hallway for the last twenty minutes. The sides of both boxes that he _hadn’t_ been able to see when he was standing in front of them said “KITCHEN STUFF” in bold, but meticulously printed lettering. 

 

All told, it wound up taking the three men about an hour and a half to finish bringing all of Betty’s boxes up to the apartment, the whole process being rather uneventful aside from the $115 parking ticket stuck under the box van’s windshield wiper for double parking. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Part of why Jughead usually agreed to attend Archie’s “workshop” pop-up shows—aside from their friendship—was because it amused him that they almost always took place at the Whyte Wyrm. Archie’s lyrics had gotten better over the years—mostly after Reggie forced him into letting the lyricist for one of his more successful acts, Valerie, review them first; however, they still tended more towards the emo-pop part of the musical spectrum. Emo-pop was probably one of the last music genres patrons at the Wyrm expected to hear, the Wyrm having opened around the same time as CBGB and tried catering to a similar crowd, albeit with infinitely less success. Reggie had approved of this arrangement for two reasons. First, if the new songs went over poorly, Archie’s artistic ego didn’t take too much of a hit because it was easier to convince him that the crowd just wasn’t into it, rather than telling him that the song was just awful. And secondly, it made Archie’s pop-up shows much more mysterious, and by extension more well-attended and hyped, because the Wyrm was _precisely_ the last venue that Archie’s targeted fan base would expect him to play. The owner of the Wyrm, a man Reggie knew only as “Hog-Eye,” had agreed to host Archie’s shows at first because they brought people in on otherwise slow nights of the week. Once Archie’s music started getting more established though, Hog-Eye began letting Archie use some of his precious Friday/Saturday night stage time. 

 

Archie wasn’t scheduled to take the stage until 10 pm, so Jughead didn’t bother about getting there until 9:30. The bar was already packed. He was craning his head around trying to find a good spot to watch the show when his eyes settled on Reggie sitting at a table moderately close to the stage with a beautiful brunette and the blonde who’d been haunting his dreams for the past two weeks. Doing his best to make it over to the table without winding up doused in alcohol had practically been an exercise in SEAL maneuvers, but eventually he made it, unscathed except for a splash of what he thought was whisky on the toe of his right combat boot.

 

Just as Jughead approached the table, Betty’s gaze landed on him with an undeniable magnetic pull. She ducked her chin just a tad giving him a shy smile as she recognized him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. He thanked every power in the universe for the oppressive dimness in the bar as just that innocent look started to get him hard. His eyes were drawn to the fullness of her plump reddened lips as she opened her mouth, only for his ears to abruptly register Reggie’s voice speaking.

 

“Jug, you made it!” Reggie said in an only mildly bro-y tone of voice. “The girls and I here were starting to wonder if you’d managed to get lost.” Reggie shared a laugh with the brunette woman sitting across from him as Betty just gently nibbled on her bottom lip. 

 

“It seems I have a bad habit of that,” Jughead said with a touch of guilt. Reggie and the brunette looked at him quizzically while Betty’s eyes flashed with mirth, her mouth curving up into a fuller smile. “This is the third time now that I’ve unintentionally kept Betty waiting on me,” he explained. 

 

Reggie busted up laughing. “Bro! That’s how you keep them interested!”

 

Before Jughead had a chance to say anything, Betty’s friend piped up, “No, Reginald. That’s how douche-bros treat girls. _You_ strike me as knowing better, and my dear, dear Betty is a _woman_ who knows she can do better.” Jughead bristled. He’d been on the receiving end of more than a few backhanded compliments in his life: he knew the brunette’s comment for what it was—a subtle dig at him that her “dear, dear Betty” could never be interested in someone like him. He could feel a scowl starting to creep across his face when Betty’s voice washed over him. 

 

“Veronica, be nice, or I’m cutting you off.” He watched as ‘Veronica’ gaped in only partially mock outrage at the threat. “Beside, we didn’t settle on a specific meeting time tonight, and Jughead had no way of knowing that we’d leave so early to get down here.” At that, she turned her clear green eyes up to his face, an apologetic look settling over her expression. 

 

He was about to say something, but before he had a chance to organize his thoughts, the lights near the stage went black and he dropped into the open seat next to Veronica at the table. 

 

*************************************************************************************

Archie’s set lasted about forty-five minutes not including the ten minute encore: a fact which both impressed and astonished Betty. 

 

When Betty and Veronica first got to the Whyte Wyrm at 9, she was shocked. The idea that her golden-retriever-puppy-soon-to-be-neighbor would be playing in a sticky, smoke-stained basement bar that was an unmistakable potential fire death trap was inconceivable. She rechecked the forwarded text from Archie. Three times. 

 

Veronica had quickly spotted the smaller bar in the back corner of the venue that didn’t have nearly the line as the more obviously accessible bar toward the front of the room. Betty had watched her confidently stride past the two or three other people waiting on drinks, squaring her shoulders as a warning for anyone to challenge her right to order first. The grizzled bartender had just given her a dry once-over with one unimpressed eyebrow raised before drolly asking, “What’ll it be?”

 

By the time Veronica returned to Betty, she had an extra strong, very dry vodka martini in one hand, and a Dirty Shirley in the other. She handed the latter to Betty with barely veiled disdain. “One of these days, Betty, I’m going to get you to have a _real_ drink,” Veronica said with a dramatic sigh.

 

Betty rolled her eyes. “Just because _you’ve_ never seen me consume quote unquote real drinks before doesn’t mean I haven’t, V.”

 

Veronica pursed her lips as she gave her best friend a disbelieving look. “Pics or it didn’t happen, Miss Cooper.” 

 

‘That, right there,’ Betty thought, was precisely why she never drank “real” drinks in situations like this: people would likely be taking pictures, and at least with a Dirty Shirley she had plausible deniability if she was ever questioned about her drinking habits. Years of living with the bloodhound better known as Alice Cooper had taught her that, if nothing else. Now, if she had, on more than one occasion, licked tequila off a man’s hip bones while giving him a blowjob…well, that was her own business. With that thought, her imagination promptly supplied her mind with the image of Jughead standing in his doorway wearing just his towel, and her walls began to tingle as she temporarily got lost in a fantasy involving him at her mercy with a bottle of Casa Dragones. Just as she was beginning to wonder if Jug was a hair-puller, she felt Veronica tugging on her arm.

 

“B, I think I see an open table up by the front.” 

 

Betty had no trouble following her friend in the crowd as Veronica cut a swath through the bodies in front of her with ease. By the time they got to the table Veronica had previously noticed though, a man was already standing beside it. Not one to be deterred, Veronica looked at him closely before sticking her hand out, “Hi, Veronica Lodge. Thank you for saving my table.”

 

The man blinked at her in shock for a minute, even as he took her hand. Betty quietly laughed into her drink.

 

“Hi Veronica. Reggie Mantle, and no one said this table was reserved, so…”he smirked as he planted himself firmly in the chair looking directly at Veronica.

 

Betty tried to grab Veronica’s arm: it wasn’t that big a deal after all, but the powerhouse brunette refused to budge.

 

“I’m sorry, _Reginald_ ,” Veronica replied smoothly. “You see, there appears to be some mistake. My friend and I are both wearing these outrageously high heels,” which had the desired effect of instantly drawing Reggie’s eyes to the very exposed expanses of Veronica’s toned legs, “and I, for one, don’t plan to be left standing in them all night. I found this table, I want it, so it’s mine. Now, be a doll, and give my dear Betty your chair, will you?” 

 

Betty could see that Reggie was on the verge of really getting annoyed by Veronica’s short speech until she said B’s name, and his head whipped around to really look at her.

 

“Wait a second,” Reggie said as he looked critically at Betty. “Betty…Betty…hold up! You’re not Jughead’s Betty, are you?”

 

Betty could feel her eyes go as wide as saucers as Veronica quickly glanced back and forth between her and the man at the table. Her face started to explode with heat as a sudden flush overtook her. Slowly, she stuttered out, “Ummmm…I’m not…I mean, there’s nothing…ahhhhh…”

 

Reggie finally seemed to catch on to what he’d said. “Sorry! Sorry! I meant, are you Jughead’s new roommate?”

 

Betty’s blonde ponytail bounced furiously as she vigorously nodded her head, unwilling to trust her voice. 

 

“Oh! Well, in that case, ladies, that is a horse of a different color.” Reggie quickly hopped up and pulled chairs out for each of the women. 

 

After she and Veronica had a chance to settle themselves in at the table, Betty asked cautiously, “So…are you a friend of Jughead’s?”

 

Reggie laughed. “Not exactly. Nah, I’m Archie’s manager. When we were talking about tonight’s show, Arch mentioned that Jughead might be coming with his new roommate—a smoking hot blonde named Betty.”

 

She laughed nervously. Throughout her life, Alice Cooper had been so obsessed with Betty portraying the “right” image at all times, that whenever anyone made a comment about her appearance she started to panic. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her drink with a death grip to keep from digging her nails into her palms. 

 

“I’m sure he didn’t say that,” Betty drifted off awkwardly thinking back to some of the hopeful glances she’d caught Archie sending her way.

 

“And why shouldn’t he?” Veronica suddenly threw in, “It’s true. You are a smoking hot blonde.” 

 

Reggie looked a little sheepish as he admitted “Ok…so maybe he didn’t _exactly_ use the term ‘smoking hot’ when he described you, but he did say you were very pretty.”

 

Betty just about wanted to crawl under the table and die. She was starting to contemplate the wisdom of returning to the coat check room to get her sweater, suddenly feeling very exposed in the sleeveless dusty rose-colored fitted satin shell she was wearing with the tan corduroy button-front skirt that hit her just below mid-thigh, when she felt a shift in the static electricity of the room. Swiveling in her seat, she found her eyes immediately drawn to the man she’d been having such wanton thoughts about earlier. She ducked her head slightly out of embarrassment, unreasonably worried that he’d somehow be able to pluck the thoughts out of her mind of her on her knees as he turned into a dichotomous whimpering animal for her; however, she gave him a shy smile, happy to see him regardless. 

 

The next few minutes before Archie’s set started had flown by in a blur, and the next thing she knew, all the lights in the bar except for the small stage flood lights were off, and Jughead’s leg kept rubbing against hers as he settled his long limbs under the table, clearly trying to minimize his contact with Veronica as much as possible. 

 

Before she knew it, it was midnight and Archie had finally joined up with them at the table they’d commandeered. If Betty was being honest, Archie’s musical stylings weren’t exactly to her taste, but she could tell he was sincere about the feelings he was trying to convey, and for that, she thought he did a good job. B did _not_ trust Veronica to be nearly as diplomatic with her own assessments though, so no one was more stunned when Veronica started gushing over _how talented_ ‘Archiekins’ was and how she’d love to hear him play again some time, ‘perhaps in a more intimate setting.’ 

 

It was when Betty saw Veronica coyly glance at Reggie before leaning a little closer to Archie and running her nails along his forearm that she realized what her best friend was doing. From the ten years the two women had been best friends, Betty knew that Veronica approached attractive men the way some fishermen approached sport fishing: she didn’t need a trophy on her wall, it was enough for her to know she caught them before throwing them back in the water for someone else to keep. And that was what she was doing now—fishing. It didn’t particularly matter to her which one went home with her tonight because in the end, she knew she’d get both of them. Playing them off each other now was just a way of amusing herself before making her final decision. 

 

She sighed a little at her friend’s antics, which prompted a concerned look from Jughead. Afraid he was going to draw unwanted attention to her, Betty shook her head slightly before leaning over to his ear—once she was sure Veronica, Reggie, and Archie’s collective attentions were elsewhere engaged—to whisper, “Don’t ask. I’ll explain at home later.” Betty watched Jug’s Adam’s apple bob from the corner of her eye as he swallowed and gave her an equally small, understanding nod. 

 

Betty thought back over the course of the evening, mentally cataloging all of the drinks Veronica had consumed. Counting the two pre-show sixteen ounce glasses of wine at The Pembrooke, the extra strong martini before the show, a second extra strong martini that Reggie bought at the end of Archie’s set, the Long Island Iced Tea Archie had given her, and the round of Fireball shots she’d insisted on moments ago (of which she’d drunk hers, Betty’s and Jughead’s without too much protest), Betty quickly concluded that Veronica was in no state to go home _with anyone_ that night other than her. “Hey V,” she turned to her friend, “I’m going to call us an Uber.”

 

Predictably, Veronica, Reggie, and Archie all started to pout. Fortunately for Betty, she was largely immune to Drunk Veronica’s pleadings, and she didn’t really know Reggie or Archie well enough to care about insulting them at the risk to her friend’s safety. Before she had a chance to get her phone out though, she looked over at Jughead who already had his in his hand. “I got this,” he said quietly, looking over at Betty with a knowing weariness.

 

She nodded her head and gave him one of her warmest, most genuine smiles in gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

 

Archie, however, tried one last time to wear down Betty’s defenses. “Pleeeeeeeease, Betty,” he whined in the plaintive whine of a drunk who’s about to make an argument for sympathy based on the hue of his testicles. She promptly cut him off. “Before you even start, Archie, the answer is no. My friend here gets way too handsy when she drinks sometimes, and neither she nor I know you well enough under the circumstances for either of you to take her home. If you’re still interested, ask me for her number in the morning after you’ve had a chance to sober up.”

 

With that parting shot, she dragged a still pouting Veronica away from the table, who’s weak protests that she “doesh snot gesh handshy” filtered back over the dwindling crowd. Archie and Reggie eventually turned their discussion to the successfulness of that evening’s set, while Jughead continued to watch a bobbing blonde ponytail disappear toward the stairs, a smile ghosting around his lips as he finished his beer. She’d told him she was going to meet him _at home_.


	4. Keep the Home Fires Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jughead's jealousy has some unfortunate karmic consequences and Nurse Betty comes to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost (as always), I greatly greatly greatly appreciate you all taking the time to enjoy this journey with me. I hope I can continue to make it worth your while. All of your thoughtful comments/kudos/bookmarks and even just your decisions to click on this story in the first place mean so much to me. Thank you.
> 
> Second, this is still un-beta'd so all errors are my own.
> 
> Finally, if you're interested, you can come find me on Tumblr at @sunshinebunnie. Not too much going on there at the moment, but yeah. Throwin' it out there. :-)

Living with Betty came more naturally to Jug than breathing.

 

She’s gotten back to their apartment later than she planned on after taking Veronica home from Archie’s show, which he knew because she’d essentially live-blogged the whole ordeal for him over text. A text chain he was religiously refusing to delete. She’d started by texting him a _profuse_ apology about not being able to go home together, filled with so many sad face emojis he didn’t even bother to count. About twenty minutes later, she’d texted again saying she probably wouldn’t be home until closer to 2 a.m. because Veronica puked on the way back to The Pembrooke. Jughead had groaned when he read the message; there was a $250 Uber surcharge he was going to have to eat. Just as he started cursing his luck of ever being exposed to Veronica Lodge, he received a series of texted photos—all of which showed an _immaculately_ pristine SUV interior. “Just in case you need to dispute any charges,” she’d written. “I made the driver pull over as soon as I heard her groaning. She was five feet away from the car with her head over a trashcan when she threw up.” 

 

“Good looking out, Betts,” he’d quickly written back. “I definitely appreciate it.” And he well and truly did. That level of thoughtfulness was something he was unused to receiving. Hell, if he was being honest, he wasn’t even sure any of his previous _girlfriends_ would’ve done the same under the circumstances. Before he had a chance to dwell too deeply on that thought, she’d responded to his reply with a jumbo-sized happy face emoji with slightly pinkened cheeks. 

 

By the time she finally got home, it was actually closer to 3 a.m. The lock to the front door of the apartment unclicked so softly Jughead hadn’t been entirely sure he’d heard anything until it was followed by the gentle whoosh of air created by the door quietly being opened as unobtrusively as possible. In the seven years he’d lived in the apartment, there’d never been a break-in in the building, and even he doubted his Jones luck was so bad that he’d be the first. 

 

He was sitting at the far corner of the dining room table, closer to the windows, feet propped on one of theother chairs, laptop opened to his photo editing software, a full cup of coffee—his third since he got home—and a half eaten turkey cheddar sandwich on Italian bread sitting next to his laptop when Betty walked into the apartment. She looked exhausted. From where he was sitting, he was just able to see the loosened ribs of the hem on her pink unbuttoned cardigan starting to bell out as if she’d been pulling on it. He couldn’t be sure, but he definitely thought the corduroy of her skirt looked decidedly more rumpled than it did when she left the Whyte Wyrm. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he suddenly envisioned her, not with Veronica, but with some faceless man suspiciously similar to Archie, legs wrapped around his waist, skirt pushed as roughly up to her waist as her back was being pushed into a wall by the man thrusting into her over and over, her perky ponytail whipping back and forth with every bounce, her crystalline voice letting out breathy moans the whole time as she helped work herself to orgasm. A wholly unnatural white-hot jealousy tore through him at the completely unsubstantiated thought. 

 

The acid in his dark roast coffee was beginning to curdle the increasingly churning bile in his stomach as Betty’s imaginary moans got steadily louder in his mind. Just as he felt his irrational jealousy starting to crest over him, he heard a muffled “oof” followed by a sharp hiss and the politest “Goddamnit!” he’d ever heard. His burgeoning jealousy promptly dissipated as he suddenly felt like an asshole. He knew that Goodfellas Extra #2 had left Betty’s box of kitchen stuff _right_ at the junction of the outermost kitchen cabinets and the cut-through from the privacy hall, had known it was there all day in fact and still hadn’t taken it upon himself to move it. More importantly, he hadn’t even bothered to turn on enough lights in the apartment so that the woman who’d only been there once before could navigate around in it safely once she got home _in the pitch black middle of the night_. 

 

In his haste to check on Betty though, he shot up from the table too quickly, knocking over both the chair he’d propped his feet on and the one he’d been sitting on in addition to catching the edge of the plate with his sandwich on it with his forearm. His forearm had, in turn, flipped the plate on to the floor where it promptly exploded into jagged ceramic shards strewn amongst the sad debris his sandwich. Betty had screamed—both surprised by the unexpected commotion Jug made as well as unprepared for him to be awake at all—which in turn caused him to accidentally step on a particularly large shard of jagged ceramic that cut straight through the thick black reinforced cotton of his sock and into the lightly calloused sole of his foot. He staggered as the sharp unanticipated pain shot up his leg and he bit out “Mother _fucker_!” as he gripped on to the edge of the dining room table to keep from falling. The main kitchen lights, which managed to illuminate the kitchen and a significant portion of the dining room table abruptly flickered on as Betty flailed her hand wildly againstthe strip of wall under the upper cabinets until she found some light switches.

 

Betty had quickly hobbled over to him as soon as there was enough light for her to navigate. Under other circumstances, Jug would’ve laughed at how comically wide her eyes got when she saw the piece of ceramic plate jutting out of his foot; however, he was focusing all of his attention on trying to breathe through the searing pain. 

 

“Oh my God, Jug!” Betty had started fussing immediately. “Your foot!” 

 

He couldn’t help it. He’d spent his life dealing with absurd bullshit like this on a regular basis, it was just part and parcel of his Jones luck, so he tried to find the funny in a dark place as he quipped, “Why? Is something wrong with it?”

 

Betty started opening her mouth to answer him when she realized he was messing with her. She gave him an unimpressed look instead.

 

“What?” he said unremorsefully. “I thought it was funny.”

 

“Jug,” she said seriously, “you need to go to a hospital.”

 

He instantly tensed up. “No, absolutely not. No hospitals.” Based on the incredulous but resigned look Betty shot him, he knew she’d realized it was not negotiable. 

 

“You know you could have nerve damage in your foot, right?” she prodded cautiously.

 

“I’ll risk it,” he replied with finality. “Just grab me some bandaids and paper towels. It’ll be fine.”

 

Betty looked at him aghast. “I will not.” 

 

He looked at her critically while she studied his face for a moment. Sighing, she asked, “Do you know where my box of bathroom stuff wound up?” 

 

“Um…” he paused to think. “I think the Goon Squad put it either in your room or near the bathroom?”

 

She gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment. Before she headed off in search of her box though, she carefully walked closer to him and helped him prop his injured foot on top of the dining room table as he reclined a little further into the chair he’d dropped himself into after he staggered. Satisfied that his foot was at a high enough elevation relative to his heart, she gingerly picked her way through the rest of the ceramic shards on the floor and headed to the far side of the apartment. A few moments later, Jughead heard the loud “pop” of taut packing tape being forcefully ripped away from a cardboard seam, followed shortly thereafter by some very purposeful rustling noises. 

 

After a little while, Betty came back, various first aid supplies piled up in her arms like she’d just hit the zombie survival jackpot. He eyed her warily as she laid out her items buffet-style further down on the dining room table: tweezers, hydrogen peroxide, butterfly bandages, medical tape, gauze, cotton balls, a small pair of medical scissors, were all organized with meticulous care along with a few other items. Taking one last look at his foot, she gave him a final chance to get out, saying “Jug, there’s a good chance you’re going to need stitches. Are you _sure_ you don’t want to go to a hospital? How about even a drop-in MedExpress clinic?” 

 

“I meant what I said, Betty. No hospitals,” he replied firmly.

 

An annoyed huff of air was expelled from her nose. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as she took a fortifying breath. Eventually, she turned her clear green gaze back to his face. “I will do this for you on _two_ conditions, Jughead,” she said evenly in a voice that brooked no argument, “First, you will completely stay off this foot for the next several days unless it’s absolutely necessary for you to move like going to the bathroom.” He quickly nodded in agreement. “ _Second_ , if I think your wound is not healing correctly _for any reason_ , you will go to the hospital to have it properly looked at, _no arguments_. Do we have a deal?” He grumbled under his breath for a minute before ultimately acquiescing to her stipulation. 

 

Before she sat down to begin her field surgery, she looked over at him and said tiredly, “I know this is probably a long shot, but would you happen to have two decent-sized leftover containers?” At the mention of leftovers, Jug instantly perked up. “Actually, yeah, Try looking in the lower cabinets closest to the refrigerator. I’m pretty sure Joaquin left all of his kitchen stuff like that.” He was transfixed as he watched her navigate her way cautiously back over to the kitchen being extra vigilant so as not to step on any of the ceramic shards herself. Soon, rummaging noises began filtering out of the kitchen as he lost sight of her increasingly disheveled blonde ponytail while she ducked in and out of the lower kitchen cabinets. A little while later he heard a triumphant “ah ha!” filter out of the kitchen by way of some cabinetry interference before her head popped back up and she turned the water on in the kitchen sink. As the water was running, she turned her eyes back to the rest of the kitchen cabinets, quickly opening and closing several before she finally reached into one, pulling out a large white and navy canister of salt. Turning back to the running faucet, she rapidly flicked her fingers under the stream of water fiddling with the temperature for a second before taking both of the containers she found and filling them about halfway with water. 

 

Carefully, Betty brought the first container over and set it on the table before returning for the second. After she laid out the second container on the table, she returned to the kitchen yet again, this time returning with a plastic Philippe Starck dust pan with matching brush. Jughead gaped, “Where did that come from?”

 

Without missing a beat, Betty cheekily replied, “Target, circa 2002, if I’m not mistaken.”

 

Whether from the throb in his foot or the lateness of the hour, he didn’t know, but Betty’s reaction caught him so off guard that he started laughing uncontrollably until he eventually found himself wheezing for breath. 

 

Once he’d settled back down, Betty quickly swept up much of the ceramic shrapnel that had still been littering the floor like pongee sticks before planting herself in a chair opposite him to begin her field surgery on his foot. 

 

It had been a little after 5:15 a.m. when Betty finished, declaring him “fixed” once she’d wrapped up pulling a toeless, arch-supporting compression sock on over his injured foot. Cut off strips of his bloodied sock littered the table along with a towering mound of used cotton balls in various shades of red and pink, used butterfly bandage wrappers and two tupperware containers filled halfway up with pale, rusty looking water. 

 

Jughead was impressed. He knew that Betty was dying from exhaustion—it was written all over her from her slumped posture to the increasingly longer pauses between her slowly blinking eyes—but despite all that, she had been nothing short of meticulous in her care for his injury. Once again he found himself struck by the bittersweet thought that no one in his life up until this moment would have gone so far out of their way just to look out for him. The thought made his heart clench. As it so often seemed to whenever he was about to wallow in an unpleasant state-of-mind, Betty’s voice broke through his melancholy reverie like a beacon of hope. “Here, let’s get you back to your room, so you can finally lay down properly. I’m sure sitting with your leg propped on the table like that for the last ninety minutes hasn’t been super comfortable.” She’d given him a small smile—barely even a quirk of the corners of her mouth, really—as she’d gently tugged on his arm, encouraging him to put as much of his weight on her as possible while she wrapped an arm around his waist to support him. 

 

It took the better part of ten minutes to traverse the length of the apartment over to Jughead’s room. Their three-legged-race pose slowed their moments down nearly as much as Jughead’s injury as Betty tried to synchronize their actions to minimize any unnecessary pain Jughead might feel as they navigated across the room. By the time they got into his room, a fine sheen of sweat had broken out along his forehead as the tenderness in his foot became immediately apparent the few times he’d accidentally borneeven the slightest weight on his foot as they’d staggered across the apartment. 

 

Under different circumstances, Jughead knew he’d probably have been a little self-conscious about Betty seeing his room in its current state, despite the irrationality of that thought given that they were going to be living together and she would certainly see his room in its naturally-occurring state often enough. Books were piled up everywhere, creating lovely little hills of literary landmines that the two of them had to navigate around. A bunch of his dirty laundry was scattered around the floor in the general vicinity of his laundry hamper, but none of it quite making it _into_ said hamper. A few of the more prestigious photojournalism awards that he’d won over the years were carelessly strewn about, largely serving as overly large paperweights and bookends. The travel case for his bass guitar was wedged half in and half out of his closet. And then there was his bed. The pillows were tossed haphazardly against his head board, a consequence of him losing his phone that morning and having to toss his bed to find it. His blue and grey comforter looked like it had seen better days and was mostly balled up down at the foot of his bed. Finally, his charcoal grey brushed cotton sheets were in an almost alarming state of rumpledness, a byproduct of his usually fitful sleep and not what the other natural assumption would suggest. ‘At least there aren’t any weird stains,’ he thought drily, thankful for the first time in quite a while for his recent sexual dry spell. 

 

Between the stress of getting injured, the exertion of having to navigate extra carefully not only across the apartment but also around his room, and his good old-fashioned exhaustion, Jug’s body went into autopilot at the sight of his bed, completely forgetting that Betty was twined around his body. He lifted hisleg to toss his body onto his bed, temporarily putting all of his body weight and most of Betty’s onto his injured foot. The searing pain was immediate, although due to Betty’s careful ministrations earlier not quite as blinding as it’d been originally, and had the effect of temporarily locking up Jughead’s muscles as he dropped unceremoniously onto his bed, effectively dragging Betty down with him. He heard her initial groan as the dead weight of his body fell against her, but as he tried to extricate himself from her as quickly and carefully as his tired body would allow, his brain vaguely registered that her groan from being sat on had subtly morphed into an appreciative moan over the decadent comfort of his down mattress. He hadn’t even finished untangling their legs before he heard the unmistakable soft purring of Betty’s snores emanating from one of his pillows. At that, he gave up trying to get them completely unknotted, and just rolled on to his side, his arm naturally draping over the curve of Betty’s hip, the perfect big spoon to her little spoon. The last thing he remembered before being pulled into unconsciousness was breathing a heartfelt ‘thank you’ into the hairline behind Betty’s ear. Whether he was thanking her for her overwhelming kindness and consideration toward him, or the universe for bringing Betty Cooper into his life, he wasn’t quite sure.


	5. Because Daylight Changes Everything....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty has some self doubts, but cooks for an army, and Jughead comes to a conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, as always, I appreciate each and every one of you for taking the time to read this story. It means a lot to me. I especially appreciate all of you who've taken the time to comment/kudos/bookmark/reblog this story. You are amazing!!!
> 
> Second, I think a bit of a warning is in order for this chapter. As much as I like the loosened up version of Alice that FP has unleashed in Season 3, that is *not* the Alice in this story. Alice here is an emotionally, psychologically abusive woman who has left some deep and abiding scars on her daughter in so, so many ways. This chapter starts to get a little more explicitly into Alice's voice in Betty's head, so if that sort of a character is a trigger for you, consider yourself warned.
> 
> Third, if you want to come find me on Tumblr, you can reach me @sunshinebunnie. Still feelin' it out, but yeah.... :-)
> 
> Finally, this un-beta'd so all errors are my own.

Betty slept like the dead. For the first time since she was a kid, Betty actually slept in. Her disbelief at waking up at the downright slovenly time of 10 a.m. momentarily distracted her from the fact that not only was there an arm that clearly didn’t belong to her wrapped around her waist, but she was also very much not in a bed that belonged to her. She was _not_ going to panic. As cautiously as she dared, she turned her head to look over her shoulder. Her chest instantly felt lighter as she recognized Jughead. Almost as instantly, Alice Cooper’s voice began whispering in her ear. ‘Betty, no self-respecting man would be interested in a woman like you. A trollop who falls into bed with him at the first opportunity. Best to just sneak off now and save yourself the indignity of having him shoot you down when he wakes up.’ As much as it pained her, part of Betty thought her mother could be right—men like Jughead _were_ never interested in her. He had a quick, dry intellectual humor that she’d never found in anyone. Even in the few interactions they’d had his thoughtfulness already constantly amazed her: he seemed to do things—like ordering and paying for her and Veronica’s Uber—simply because they were the decent thing to do and not because he got any immediate benefit out of them. The fact that he was sexy as hell with his rich blue eyes and a voice that damn near made her panties remove themselves in his presence was beside the point. ‘No,” she internally scolded herself, ‘you are not going to mess up what looks to be a great living situation just because you have a crush. You are living in New York goddamn City. It is statistically impossible for him to be the only thoughtful, funny, accomplished, devastatingly sexy single man in a place with eight-point-six _million_ people living here.’ So what if he made her feel safe? Or that she even found his stubbornness and his constant tardiness endearing? She could continue to enjoy those feelings while tucked up safely in Platonic Roommate Land. Besides, just because she was preemptively exiling herself to the Friend Zone didn’t mean that she couldn’t indulge in fantasizing about all the filthy things she _would_ do with him if he _was_ ever interested.

 

Staying conscious of his injured foot, which she was pleased to see didn’t appear to have bled through the bandages or the compression sock she’d put on him earlier, she delicately extricated herself from his bed, watching for any signs that she’d inadvertently woken him up. Aside from scooting over to the spot she had just vacated and burrowing into thelingering warmth of the indent her body had left, Jughead gave no indication that he was rousing from his deep slumber. She gave a quiet, wistful sigh under her breath as she took one last hopeful look at him. As her eyes swept over the perfectly sculpted contours of his face, she noticed the thick locks of hair that had fallen into his eyes as he’d rolled over subconsciously chasing after her missing heat. She bit her lower lip as she debated whether to move the hair out of his face. ‘This could be your only chance to ever know what it’s like to run your fingers through his hair…’ her treacherous subconscious suggested only too reasonably. Before she could talk herself out of it, based solely off the creepy serial killer vibe she’d surely be giving him if he woke up, she nimbly grazed her fingertips through his surprisingly soft inky black hair deftly brushing it back up toward his hairline. It was only through an exercise of sheer iron will that she stopped herself from scraping her fingernails along his scalp or wrapping his errant locks around her fingers to tug on them until he moaned in ecstasy for her.

 

She stood back from the bed with a wistful smile, then silently made her way out of his room. 

 

Unsure whether he was a light or a heavy sleeper, Betty made a concerted effort for the rest of the morning to be exceptionally quiet as she finished unpacking and organizing her things. As she moved around the apartment, familiarizing herself with where everything was, she was fascinated by what appeared to be some of Jughead’s idiosyncrasies. 

 

She decided to start her unpacking in the kitchen, since not only was it the farthest away from Jug’s room, but after the incident earlier that morning, it was the space most obviously in need of cleaning and organizing. As she’d gone through the cabinets looking for where he kept his dishes, and his pots and pans, and other such items, she found that nearly _all_ of his cabinets were empty beyond a collection of over-sized coffee mugs, some paper plates, and an entire cabinet dedicated to some of the sorriest looking tupperware containers she’d ever seen. She frowned. Despite the ample cabinet space in the kitchen, not a single one she checked held any type of _actual_ cookware. Shrugging, she set aside her nervousness and began unwrapping all of her pots and pans from their carefully crafted newspaper nests, and stored them in what she considered to be their ideal locations based on size, purpose and frequency of use. Turning next to her limited glassware, she thought about rearranging his coffee mugs. As it stood, the eight or so he had—‘one for every day of the week plus one for when he’s stuck washing the rest of them, I bet,’ Betty thought with practicality—were thrown together on the second shelf of an otherwise empty cabinet next to the fridge. Her first thought was to move all the cups and glassware closer to the stove, but as she thought of Jughead’s choice, it made sense to her. Better to keep them closer to where they might actually be used, especially for things like milk or juice where containers might accidentally get left on the counter rather than immediately put back, than expect people to carry glasses through the length of the kitchen. She left his mugs where they were simply organizing them into as less of a jumble as their mismatched shapes and sizes would allow before adding her own four white sixteen ounce mugs—she wasn’t a savage, for God’s sake—next to his. Then, she carefully laid out the rest of her small glassware collection on the cabinet’s bottom shelf: eight clear pint glasses and eight “rocks” glasses. 

 

Her eyes fell back to the bottom of her box landing on two small tightly wadded up balls of newspaper tossed in one of the corners. She chewed on her lip, her mind eagerly drifting back to her previous thoughts of Jughead sprawled out for her—not on his bed, his cloud of a mattress wasn’t nearly firm enough, perhaps on their living room couch?—as she dribbled her favorite tequila along the divots of his hipbones, letting the sweet smoky flavor of the alcohol linger in her mouth as she’d swirl her dexterous tongue around the weeping head of his engorged cock, using his precum as a chaser. Every inch of her body started simultaneously tingling at the thought. ‘Get a grip, Betty,’ she reminded herself sternly. ‘Whatever lusty thoughts you have about him need to be stored away for your _personal_ time because he’s never going to be into you like that.’ Reaching into the box, she roughly snatched up the two items she’d snuck right under Veronica’s nose, resolving to keep her two precious shot glasses in her own room. For now at least, she took off the newspaper packing and set the glasses on the counter next to the kitchen sink. 

 

Finally, she went back to the cabinet where she’d found Jughead’s stack of paper plates. She tsked softly. It was such a stereotypical bachelor move that it seemed out of character for him. Her gleaming white plates stood neatly in a stack on the counter as she carefully checked each of her cereal bowls for any chips or cracks as she unwrapped them. Content that all of her dinnerware made the move without incident, Betty debated whether it made more sense to put the bowls or the plates on the bottom shelf. On the one hand, breakfast was the first meal of the day, so bowls would be one of the first dishes she’d be looking forward in the morning, but on the other hand, she’d be using plates more often throughout the day and would want them quickly and readily accessible. In the end, the argument for putting the plates on the bottom shelf won out. Betty was conflicted as she removed Jughead’s plates from the cabinet though. She didn’t exactly want to encourage his continued use of the environmentally-unfriendly single use dinnerware, but she couldn’t really think of a better place to put them at the moment. Picking up the stack again, she held it edge-wise and counted how many were there. Given how many he’d probably used over the years prior to her moving in, letting him finish using the last twenty probably wasn’t going to make a huge difference to his carbon footprint. She put them back in the cabinet nestled on top of her own plates.

 

Satisfied that all of her kitchenware was put away appropriately, she moved over to the dining room table to assess the full extent of the chaos Jughead had managed to cause when she got home that morning. She took the two tupperware containers of stagnant water back over to the kitchen first, dumping the blood-tinged water into the sink. Each of the containers had started to develop scum lines from where the standing water had sat undisturbed, so she placed them in the bottom of the sink, poured a couple drops of dish detergent into both before allowing them to soak for awhile in some hot water. She grabbed a couple paper towels from the roll on the rack near the sink and walked back over to the table to clean up the bits of Jug’s former sock, the used cotton balls, and the crumpled pieces of used butterfly bandage wrappers. Content that all of the dry medical waste was adequately contained in her two paper towels, she walked back over to the kitchen and tossed her parcel into the trashcan she remembered was in the kitchen pocket pantry. Finally, she grabbed the plastic dust pan from where she’d put it in the cupboard under the sink that morning, and grabbed a couple of dampened paper towels before walking back over to the table. She picked up the debris from Jug’s sandwich and walked it back over to the kitchen trashcan. Next, she started sweeping up the rest of the larger ceramic shards that she’d missed with the dust pan that morning. Happy with her efforts, she then carefully ran the damp paper towels over every inch of floor where there could conceivably be ceramic splinters too small to be swept up by the dust brush. Fairly certain that the floor was once again safe for bare feet, she returned to the kitchen trashcan one last time to toss in the damp paper towels along with the contents of the dust pan.

 

The rest of her unpacking had gone relatively quickly after she’d finished organizing her kitchen stuff. Her two boxes of clothes were either hung up or put away in the bureau that had apparently been in her room since about 1997 based off the Rage Against the Machine/Wu Tang Clan Tour sticker slapped against the side of the wood. She’d unpackedher pale lilac cotton sheets with the matching comfortable and quickly put them on the full size mattress Joaquin had sold her for $300 “for saving him the hassle of dealing with Craigslist weirdos.” Joaquin had simply bequeathed his two side tables and his floor lamp to her because Kevin had insisted they “didn’t match his apartment’s meticulously curated aesthetic.” Betty had known Kevin long enough to know that was his way of saying he thought Joaquin’s furniture was ugly, but she actually rather liked Joaquin’s taste. It wasn’t anything she would’ve naturally gravitated to on her own, but she found she really appreciated the clean lines and bare metal structures of the man’s Modern Industrial sensibilities, much the same way that she appreciated the cams and headers when she was looking at a car engine. Between the two side tables, Betty was able to set out her small bedside reading lamp, four of her favorite framed 5 x 8 photos, and her iPhone docking station. The rest of her photos and assorted knickknacks she laid out carefully on the various shelves on the bookcase in her room, using them to punctuate the various gaps created by the small collection of books she’d brought with her. Putting her most treasured books on the well-worn shelves made her both happy and sad: happy because it was a sign that she was _finally_ settled for the first time in far too long, but sad for all the books she’d had to leave at her mother’s house while she’d figured out the next steps of her life. ‘At least now,” Betty thought, ‘I have a reason to look forward to going home for Thanksgiving.’ The thought caused a slightly weary smile to skirt across her face. She quietly broke down the four moving boxes before going over to the bathroom to finish unpacking the last of her stuff.

 

There were cubbies built-in to the wall next to the bathroom door the way Betty had seen before at some of the fancier gyms she’d gone to from time to time with Veronica. The top three were already filled with several towels in various stages of threadbareness and in an array of different hues of grey. Her ultra plush pastel pink, green, blue and gold towels looked positively out of place by comparison. She hung her loofah off one of the shower curtain hooks and balanced the caddy with her shampoo, conditioner, razor, shaving gel, and body wash on the ledge at the back left corner of the combination bathtub/shower. The base for her electric toothbrush fit squarely on the bathroom sink with plenty of room left for Betty to set out her toothpaste, mouthwash, and floss without feeling like she was encroaching on Jughead’s counter space. Lastly, she stored away her impressive collection of medical supplies. 

 

Betty had been exceptionally happy that Jughead hadn’t questioned her about either her supply stash or her knowledge of wound care, although she supposed he would eventually when he wasn’t too tired or in shock to think about it. It wasn’t that she wanted to avoid discussing it _per se_ , she just wanted to put it off for as long as possible so that she could cling to the illusion that Jughead thought she was a perfectly normal, well-adjusted woman, rather than knowing her for who she really was—a masochist with a penchant to self-harm during times of stress. Although she’d gotten much better at managing her impulses—moving away from her mother had helped significantly in that regard—she’d be lying if she said never acted on the urge to scar up her hands any more. 

 

She caught a glimpse of the time on her Apple Watch as she walked out of the bathroom. It was already after 1:30 p.m. Betty could hardly believe it. Walking back toward the kitchen, she opened the fridge and quickly took stock of its nearly non-existent supplies: two twist top bottles of microbrewery lagers, one and a half slices of suspicious looking American cheese, and a yogurt that Betty suspected had been purchased around the time of the broccoli rice she’d had Jughead throw out two weeks earlier. With the exception of the beer, Betty made an executive decision to throw out the rest of contents of Jughead’s fridge out of a concern for health and welfare. 

 

Grabbing a blank yellow Post-It note from one of the stacks that Jughead seemed to keep littered around the apartment—she’d actually found two shoved into the medicine cabinet in the bathroom—she crept over to the door of his room to check in on him. Her heart swelled as she looked at him, his face completely at peace as he got some well-deserved sleep. Not wanting him to wake up and freak out because he didn’t know where she was, nor wanting to risk awakening him prematurely by texting him while she was out, Betty grabbed the pen she’d stuck through her ponytail when she’d been organizing her room, and jotted him a short note before sticking it on the table next to his bed. “Went out grocery shopping. Back soon. Try not to walk if you can avoid it!’ For a split second, she considered kissing the note. ‘Don’t be silly, Betty,’ her mind chided. ‘ _You’re not his girlfriend._ There’s no need to go confusing things for yourself.’ 

 

She left the note where it was.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Jughead decided: he was just never going to wake up. As long as he stayed asleep, he could keep living in his dreamland where a certain kind, thoughtful, sexy blonde he knew was curled up in his bed. Naked. Sore. Smug from repeated satisfaction. His cock began to harden at the thought. He vaguely processed that his legs were somehow tangled up in his sheets, but before his brain could remind him why it was a terrible idea, he roughly kicked out his injured foot in an attempt to free himself. The sobering intensity of the pain was immediate as he hissed through his teeth.

 

The dream memory of a ravished, sex-tousled Betty evaporated from his mind. As the dream-induced sex haze lifted from his mind, Jughead simultaneously became aware of three things. First, he had a desperate urge to pee that the beginnings of his now softening-erection had been helping to suppress. Second, his apartment smelled _amazing_. Like, he was already salivating in response to how amazing the air smelled. And third, there was howling. He went with it. ‘Howling, makes sense,’ he thought dimly, his mind already wandering back to what the source of the amazing smells could be. ‘Wait, _howling…_?’ he thought again as his brain began processing the information more critically. All of his mental energy became focused on his listening as he held his breath and waited to see if he’d hear the howling again. A long heartbeat went by, then another. Finally, he heard Betty’s voice again singing, “I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand…” He was floored. Not that he’d given it much thought, but he’d kind of assumed she was more of a “Hey Mickey!” girl. Hearing her fully jamming out to Warren Zevon, on the other hand, was definitely a surprise, although hardly an unpleasant one. 

 

The mystery of the howling finally solved, Jug’s attention was fully drawn back to his bladder’s urgent need for relief. “This is gonna suck,” he whispered to himself, bracing himself up on his elbows as he focused much more carefully on untangling his feet from his twisted up sheets. It took a couple minutes, but he finally managed to free himself from his cotton restraints. He took a deep breath in through his nose as he swung his good foot over the edge of the bed, tentatively propping his body weight on it as he engaged his core—rather than relyingon the muscles in his injured foot and ankle—using his momentum from sitting up to help bring his injured foot over the side of the bed. Planting his arms against his mattress on either side of his hips, he bore the front brunt of his body weight down through his good leg while making sure he kept as little weight as he could get away with supported by the splayed out toes of his injured appendage. 

 

Despite the book tower landmines littering the floor of his room—he really needed to do something about them—hobbling out of his room seemed to be a much easier task when he only had to worry about one set of feet, not two. When he reached the door of his room, he stopped, taking a minute to brace himself against the door frame, and giving his one leg a temporary break. As his eyes swept over to the kitchen, he was absolutely mesmerized by the scene in front of him. Betty’s apparently ever-present ponytail was bobbing wildly back and forth as Betty danced around the kitchen in sheer abandon, periodically belting out lines from “Werewolves of London.” He swallowed before calling out in a huskier voice than he was expecting, “I didn’t take you for a werewolf kind of girl.” Betty spun around instantly to face him. With a wicked smirk and what he’d _swear_ was an unmistakeable lusty gaze, she cheekily replied, “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Juggie. I’m all about the beast within.” Her darkened green eyes held his for a beat beyond decency, and under other circumstances, he’d have been halfway across the apartment before he had a chance to second guess his intentions, but things being what they were with his injury, he stayed put, leaning purposefully against his door frame. As it was, he watched her drop her head down instead, an embarrassed flush deepening the tone of the skin on her neck and shoulders that was exposed by the pajama tank top Betty was wearing. He wasn’t positive, but he thought he saw her cringe as she quietly moaned under her breath, “I can’t believe I just said that out loud…” He smirked. Beast within? He could _definitely_ show her a beast within, certainly far better than a milksop like Archie could, that was for sure. Given some time, he knew he could show Betty why he was a good (perfect, even?) match for her, time he luckily had since they were living together…so long as she didn’t start dating anyone else in the meantime.The uncomfortably familiar coils of jealousy that started wrapping around his intestines whenever he thought of Betty involved with someone else began creeping over him just as he heard Betty gasp.

 

“Jug! Oh my God, how did I not notice?” she chastised, mostly to herself it seemed. “What are you doing up?”

 

Even though he thought Betty looked down right adorable in her pale pink pajama tank top and her long cotton draw string pajama pants that had clouds made out of super fluffy looking sheep on them, the Nurse Betty tone of her voice from earlier that morning told him she probably would not be receptive to a sexual innuendo in that moment. 

 

“You said it’d be alright if I had to use the bathroom…?” he hazarded slowly. 

 

“Right,” she replied, instantly turning her eyes back to her feet in embarrassment. 

 

He took a calculated risk. “Could use a little help, if you don’t mind though?”

 

Immediately, Betty hopped to it, nearly sprinting across the apartment to get to him. His mind happily filed her eagerness away in his memory bank to take creative license with later.

 

She ducked under the arm that was bracing him against the door jamb, sliding one around his waist while gripping the hand draping over her shoulder with her other. “I got you,” she whispered softly as the brunt of his body weight suddenly sagged against her.

 

The walk from his room to the bathroom was both mercifully short, which his foot and leg were thankful for, and disappointingly quick, as every other part of him silently protested the loss of Betty’s presence as she left him to his business. When he reemerged a few minutes later, he was unsurprised to see Betty standing there waiting for him, but he was surprised by what she had in front of her: a knee scooter. 

 

She gave him a shy smile as he looked at her incredulously. “I had a feeling staying completely off your foot was going to be difficult for you, so I found this for you today.”

 

He just gaped. “When…? How…? I don’t…” he stuttered.

 

Her grin widened. “You slept for a _really_ long time today. Gave me plenty of time to go grocery shopping and scour Craigslist for this. I got a steal on it from some kid over at NYU whose broken foot was finally healed up and just wanted some beer money.” 

 

He rested his knee on the pad and the muscles in his uninjured leg immediately began cheering their thanks at not having to support his body weight in such an odd manner as before.

 

Jug looked at Betty with unhindered sincerity as he said, “Thank you.” And he truly _was_ thankful to whatever universal power decided to bring her into his life because for the first time ever, he honestly didn’t feel so alone.

 

“Oh! I forgot!” Betty said brightly. “I made dinner too. I wasn’t sure what you ate, and it’s been so long since I’ve really had access to a kitchen of my own, so I may have gone a little overboard…” she drifted off sheepishly.

 

His eyes positively _glowed_. “You cooked?” he asked hopefully.

 

“Um, yeah….I hope that’s ok?” Betty replied, started to sound a little uncertain.

 

“No, that’s awesome!” he answered enthusiastically. “I eat everything. It’s kind of my super power,” he continued, only half joking. The years of food insecurity he’d suffered through as a kid with both Gladys and FP, and later on with FP alone, had taught him to eat whatever was put in front of him and to take advantage of _any_ opportunity to consumer food.

 

“That’s good to know,” Betty said. “Why don’t you test out the scooter, and I’ll dish you up some food?”

 

He just nodded in agreement.

 

Although he generally considered himself an honorable man, he wasn’t above taking a minute to admire the way the sheep on her pajama pants drew his eyes to the taut globes of her ass as she scampered back to the kitchen. He took a minute to close his eyes and breathe deeply as he errantly thought, ‘Yep, I will absolutely eat _anything_ you choose to put in front of me, Betty.’ As it was, the cravings of his carnal hunger were soon distracted by the more visceral cravings of his physical hunger as he watched Betty put down plate after plate after plate of food on the dining room table. For a nanosecond, he almost doubted his ability to put a dent in the spread she laid out, until his nose went into overload with all of the delicious smells. He was surprised he wasn’t _actually_ drooling by the time he sat down and started helping himself.

 

Betty hadn’t lied. There was an honest-to-God brown sugar glazed spiral ham with pineapple rings. Some awesome smelling vegetable dish he didn’t recognize was in some type of covered platter. There was pasta with a thick meat sauce. Cornbread. Meatloaf. Mashed potatoes. Buttered corn on the cob. Chilled shrimp. A dish that looked like some type of potato sausage stuffing. Sautéed chicken with what looked like wilted garlic spinach. Rice pilaf. Pan seared flank steak. His brain shut down.He barely even registered that she’d mentioned something about there being fresh baked chocolate cookies for dessert.

 

When he finished loading up his plate with the first round of food, he took one bite and groaned. He opened his eyes and looked as deeply into Betty’s soul as he could before saying in complete seriousness, “I’m _going_ to marry you.” 

 

Betty blushed beet red as she lightly scoffed. “Eat your food, Juggie.” 


	6. Domesticity is Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty makes some interesting clothing choices, and Jughead faces some inner turmoil over Betty's sartorial decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, as always, thank you to each and every one of you wonderful people for reading this humble story. I greatly greatly appreciate it. Thank you especially to each of you who's taken the time to comment/kudos/bookmark/reblog this. Your willingness to not only spend the time to read this, but also to give me your incredibly generous feedback is amazing. (I know I've gotten behind, but I promise I **will** respond to each of your comments individually!!)
> 
> Second, I apologize in advance if I totally butchered my description of the Greek system. I think I was able to keep fairly accurate though based on my own limited experience?
> 
> Third, as usual, this is un-beta'd so all errors are mine. I think I caught all the typos, or at least tried to.
> 
> Finally, I haz a Tumblr--@sunshinebunnie. Feel free to reach me there. Still not entirely sure how it works, but working on it. :-)

The pleasant days of Spring slowly faded into the inferno of a New York City summer. It was hot in that sticky, muggy way that made your joints ache from your body being bloated to twice its size while simultaneously purging every ounce of moisture from itself and making you feel like you’d never be able to quench your undying thirst. And that had only been by Father’s Day. By July 4th, the City-wide “brown-outs” started happening. 

 

In years past, Jughead had developed a pretty good system for dealing with this time of year. He’d stay at the office as long as he could—‘thank you for having a generator to power the A/C non-stop’ he’d often caught himself thinking—and would otherwise wear as little as was socially acceptable around his apartment (usually just boxers, sometimes a tank top if Toni was stopping by) while taking frequent cold showers. Now, so many, many parts of that plan no longer appealed to him. On the one hand, unrestricted air conditioning that did not personally impact his Con Ed bill was a godsend, but on the other, the more time he spent at the office, the less time he got to see Betty. He caught himself smiling at the thought of her.

 

Since she’d moved in—the foot incident aside, which had healed perfectly thankyouverymuch—Jug had been feeling lighter. Her almost perpetually sunny attitude was helping to disinfect some of the more putrid parts of his soul, like his general belief that humanity was garbage. He just felt like he wanted to be a better person both around her and for her. 

 

They’d established an easy, if unspoken routine. Betty would leave a note in the kitchen listing what she was planning for dinner. (Why she insisted on waking up at 5 a.m. _every_ day floored him.) He’d look at the note and if he noticed stuff like vegetables that needed to be chopped or things like that, then he would take care of the prep work for her before he left for work. She’d usually get home around 6 and start cooking, so that they were generally ready to sit down to eat by the time Jughead normally got home closer to 7. After his foot had healed up, he had Betty show him how she liked her pots and pans washed—he just knew she’d have a preference—and from then on, had taken to cleaning all the dishes after dinner, while Betty would curl up on the couch with her latest true crime book and a cup of tea or a glass of wine, depending on how work had gone. 

 

Although Jug generally hated having to clean, having had a few too many close calls as a kid of having to rush around to hide the evidence of FP’s alcoholism and neglect because some well-meaning neighbor had called Child Services, he enjoyed washing dishes for Betty because it was a least some small way he could thank her for being kind to him when she didn’t have to be. Of course, it didn’t hurt either that it gave him the ideal opportunity to study her in contemplative silence without it being too creepy. As his hands would methodically scrub the pots and pans like she’d showed him, his eyes would wander along the graceful column of her neck as she’d lean away from him on the arm of the couch to better catch the lamplight on the page of her book. He’d notice the way she’d tuck her legs up on the couch so that she was both taking up as little space as she could and taking up enough space that someone couldn’t easily invade her personal bubble by sitting right next to her. 

 

After a couple weeks of observing her, he’d realized that Betty planned all her outfits out a week in advance, which he’d figured out by noticing the changes in her toe nail polish choices. During the weeks when she’d worn any type of open toe shoe, even if it was only for one day that week, her toe nail polish was always a very neutral, demure seashell pink. However, if she was going to be in closed toe shoes, then she’d change her polish to a dark cherry red, bordering on a reddish-purplish blackberry color. It secretly thrilled him to be privy to Betty’s hidden act of rebellion. It made him wonder what _other_ hidden rebellious impulses she could have.

 

Probably his favorite routine they’d established though was laundry night. It had come about accidentally. 

 

His absurdly-early rising roommate was in bed religiously at 9 p.m. nearly every night unless there was a special occasion. When Joaquin had decided to whisk Kevin away to Montreal for his birthday, Betty had insisted they get dinner before they left. Originally, their dinner had been scheduled for 6:30 at a tapas restaurant Betty had been clearly surprised Jughead had recommended. He’d just shrugged. She was right to believe it wasn’t his scene, but Toni have raved about it recently and it had even managed a five-star rating from Cheryl (“The food didn’t kill me, and the drinks were strong. I’d go back.”)

 

Even though he wasn’t going to dinner with the two of them, Betty had texted him every time she had to push back the reservation time. The semi-barrage of texts had been so Betty.

 

He’d gotten the first text at 6 p.m. as he was leaning over the light board in his office. ‘Kev just texted. He’s stuck at the office “indefinitely” because of this merger he’s working on…’ Just as he finished skimming her first text, a second popped up. ‘I’m so hungry!  ☹️ ‘ 

 

Immediately he started laughing. Quickly, he’d typed back, ‘I’d bring you a sandwich but let’s be honest, I’d probably eat it on the way to your office.’ 

 

The “read message” indicator popped up under his text, followed nearly instantly by blue “response in progress” bubbles. A second later, her answer populated his screen. ’You would too.  😝 ’

 

He’d spent a full two minutes doubled over his light board from laughter. 

 

When he finally managed to stop laughing, he grabbed his phone and tapped out, ‘All seriousness, let me know if you and Kevin decide to reschedule for another day. I’ll meet up with you somewhere tonight.’ 

 

The minutes stretched on, and he had to physically distract himself from checking his phone to see if she’d responded. ‘Get a grip, Jones,’ he reminded himself harshly, ‘even she takes you up on it, it’s not like it would be a date.’ He tried to rub some of the building tension out of his neck before it started to knot up. 

 

A little before 7:45, a full thirty minutes after his last text, Betty’s name popped back up on his screen. ‘Thanks, Juggie! Kev just got back to me a little while ago. He’s going to run back to his place to change really quick and then we’re going to meet up for dinner at 8:30.’ 

 

He knew how much she’d be struggling to stay awake through dinner. She’d probably wind up drinking way too much coffee to make up for it and wind up doing something crazy to burn off the excess energy when she got home. Last time it had happened was after Veronica called a summit with Betty to deconstruct every detail of her joint first date with Archie and Reggie. She’d gotten home at 1:30 in the morning, hopped up on double espressos and proceeded to clean and disinfect every square inch of their bathroom. He could’ve eaten off the toilet bowl it was that clean. He just shook his head. 

 

‘Try not to go overboard with the coffee,’ he tried cautioning her gently, but he wasn’t sure if she interpreted it how he intended, so he followed up with a ‘ 🙂 .’ 

 

About five minutes later, a ‘ 🤭 ’ came up under her name followed instantly by ‘Too late?’ 

 

He chuckled and slid his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. 

 

Unlike Betty, Jughead kept such extreme night owl hours, he was amazed he managed to maintain friendships with anyone who worked a day job. It had taken her a couple weeks to get used to it, mostly because the glare from whatever light source he was using was visible over the tops of the false walls of their rooms no matter where in the apartment Jug chose to work. Despite the minor disruption to her sleep schedule as she got acclimated to it, Betty never once complained, other than to encourage him to take care of himself because “Sleep is important, Jug.”Once she got used to his hours though, she actually admitted to him that it comforted her. That the dim glow of the lights reminded her of her childhood nightlight, and it helped remind her she wasn’t alone. 

 

It was because of this knowledge that Jug wasn’t surprised Betty felt comfortable enough to text him at 1:30 on a Friday night trusting he’d still be awake. ‘I’m finally on my way home! See you in a little while.’ 

 

The simple message made him smile as he finished tossing some dirty shirts in his laundry hamper. ‘Cool,’ he tapped out quickly. Then to be on the safe side, he added ‘Don’t worry if I’m not in the apartment when you get home, I’m just in the laundry room downstairs.’

 

His phone rang as soon as she must’ve received his text. “What do you mean ‘laundry room,’ Jug?”

 

“The laundry room in the building’s basement? The one we both pay to have access to…” his voice drifted off as he heard her inhale sharply on the other end of the line. Cautiously, he probed, “Why? Haven’t you been doing laundry there?” 

 

Even over the phone, he could see the wheels turning in her head. Since she’d technically taken over Joaquin’s lease, Jughead had naturally assumed that his former roommate had given her the rundown on their building and everything that was and wasn’t included in her rent payment. It was a reasonable assumption given that so much of their free time didn’t actually overlap exceptfor their two hours a night during the week and most of the day on the weekends. 

 

Finally, instead of answering him, she’d asked, “Would it be too much trouble to ask you to wait til I get home? I actually have a bunch of laundry I need to do and I’d really appreciate it if you could show me where it’s located.” 

 

He nodded, forgetting for a second that he was talking to her on the phone, before adding, “Sure thing. I’ll see you soon then.”

 

“See you soon, Juggie,” she’d said happily before the call disconnected. 

 

It was about fifteen minutes later when he heard her key in the lock of their front door. He willed himself not to pull an Archie and go bounding toward the door to greet her like an eager puppy. Instead, he straightened his beanie and went to grab his laptop out of his room. He’d just tucked the device under his arm when he heard her call out from the privacy hallway, “Jug? You home?” 

 

He smiled. Even though he’d told her he’d wait for her, she still felt the need to check. As if he’d ever go back on his word to her. “In here, Betts,” he’d replied casually.A moment later, she popped her head around the door to his room, still not completely comfortable with invading his personal space without an express invitation despite living together for a little over a month. 

 

“Hey,” she’d said softly, “I appreciate you waiting for me. I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

 

“No trouble at all,” he’d responded just as softly, immediately noticing the tiredness pulling desperately at her eyes, which were being held unwilling captives to the overindulgent caffeine intake she’d engaged in earlier. “You know,” he ventured to add, “we can always just do this tomorrow…” his voice trailed off as she emphatically shook her head “no.” 

 

“Just give me a sec to get out of my work clothes,” she’d said before disappearing back over to her room. A moment later, the sounds of her changing filtered over the partial wall between their rooms. He started scouring his room for any and every loose article of dirty clothing he might have initially missed to distract himself from imagining her sliding her fitted light blue skirt off her hips and over her thighs, bending down seductively to pick the garment off the floor before placing it in her laundry basket. When the sounds of her unclasping her bra registered, he damn near sprinted over to where he kept his DVD collection organized on the larger of the two bookcases in his room and started almost frantically looking through them. He was so fervently focused on choosing the perfect movie to watch while doing his laundry that he almost missed Betty saying she was ready to go. When he finally turned around to face her, he was not remotely prepared for the image that awaited him.

 

Betty’s iconic ponytail was still flawlessly in place, but that was where her familiar look ended. Instead of her usual casual wear t-shirts, which tended to be plain color blocks that weren’t too fitted, the t-shirt she was wearing looked about half a size too small, stretched tightly across her chest with a hem just high enough above her belly button that if she stretched it would classify as a crop top. The most shocking thing about it though was the fact that it was black with an image of five shot glasses with carnival-style rubber duck shooting targets on them with the glass on the end knocked over on to its side like it’d been shot down. Subconsciously, his eyes skimmed down her torso to her legs, expecting to find one of her usual assortment of adorable full length pajama bottoms. Lady luck had decided to completely abandon him, it seemed. He swallowed thickly as his brain excitedly began to process the dark red cotton hot pants with scalloped edges that she was wearing. If someone had offered Jug $1,000.00 to described the wildest outfit Betty owned, _never_ in a million years would he have come up with anything nearly as titillating as what she had put on. 

 

Her soft gaze settled on his eyes as she simply asked, “You ready?”

 

Not trusting his voice, especially since he was now _immensely_ thankful he’d thrown on the baggiest pair of gym shorts he owned,he just nodded succinctly before passing by her on the way out of his room. His eyes drifted over the back of her shirt as he walked further toward the front of their apartment: “Take a shot for charity…Delka Mu 2011” was written in gun smoke cursive letters that stretched across her shoulder blades. On a hunch, he hazarded a discreet glance at the back of her shorts. As he suspected, 3” high black and blue polka dot appliqué Greek letters were sewn onto the fabric barely covering the supple globes of her ass. Part of him wasn’t all that surprised. She was almost the physical embodiment of the prototypical sorority girl: tall, thin, good skin, perfect blonde hair, and perky for days in just about every conceivable way. On the other hand, she was such a genuinely _nice_ person, she practically assaulted people with kindness. A far cry, personality-wise, from every other sorority girl he’d ever come into contact with, who, as a rule, tended more toward Cheryl Blossom’s brand of limited humanity. 

 

They took the elevator down to the lobby before taking a small flight of stairs at the far end of the hall down to the basement, which was surprisingly well-lit. “Insurance,” Jug had mentioned offhand when Betty had commented on it, to which she had nodded sagely. Insurance also turned out to be partially the reason for how the laundry room was set up. Any resident in the building could pay an optional “membership” fee which got them unrestricted access to the laundry room, which had eight washing machines and four extra large dryers that were all free to use. Additionally, to ensure that only paying apartment dwellers could access the room, it had a keypad entry and each apartment had its own unique code. Finally, all of the washing machines were arranged in a block in the middle of the room with the dryers all lined up against the farthest wall to the left of the door with a shelf for folding clothes running all along the wall nearest to the door. All told, anyone looking into the decent-sized glass window of the door would be able to see every square inch of the laundry room without obstruction. Although he could tell that all the safety measures made Betty feel safe enough to come down to the laundry room on her own, he still told her, “If you ever want some company while you’re doing laundry, just let me know. I’m happy to come down.” The shy smile she gave him was small, but the gratefulness that bled out of her eyes more than sufficiently let him know exactly how much his offer meant to her. 

 

They’d started loading up their respective washing machines in silence: Jug tossing all of his clothes into one, Betty carefully separately her lights from her darks from her delicates into three. 

 

It was taking everything in Jug’s willpower not to stare every time she bent over her laundry basket or stretched to put an article of clothing into the correct washing machine. Just as he thought he was in the clear, he turned his head at precisely the wrong—or right, depending on how he looked at it—moment. Betty was stretched out, leaning into one of the washing machines—a light had accidentally gotten tossed in with her darks—her left leg lifted just high enough for balance that Jug could see straight up the opening of her shorts. She was commando and appeared to be completely waxed from the looks of things. 

 

Every honorable thought he ever had about Betty promptly went on vacation. His fingertips began to tingle as he imagined how simple it would be for him to reach across the few short inches between them and graze them up her inner thigh toward the oh-so-tempting pinkness of her pussy. He imagined her breath hitching as he slowly slipped his fingers under her shorts and delicately teased her smooth lower lips. Jughead could already see how quickly her pussy would start glistening as she became wetter and wetter from his purposefully teasing touches. Giving her just enough stimulation to make her whimper and beg for him while always keeping her on that edge ofnot enough sensation to feel satisfied. Crucially, he imagined all the ways she would look at him, her clear green eyes darkened and hooded from all-consuming lust as she bit into her lower lip, pleading with him through her body language to let her cum. 

 

Almost before he realized what he was doing, he registered his hand reaching out to touch her leg. 

 

The shock of his completely uncharacteristic behavior gave his brain enough time to reboot itself into looking for something to distract him from his lustful thoughts. Taking one last look at the Greek letters on her ass, ∆KM, mocking his willpower, he mustered up a question in the breeziest way he could manage given the predicament he was facing because of his uncooperative body, “So, sorority girl, huh? What’s the story there?” 

 

Her ponytail popped back up out of the washing machine she was almost climbing into, a white camisole balled up in her hand, which she threw into the correct washer before saying, “What makes you think there’s a story?”

 

He gave her a penetrating look before replying straightforwardly, “Investigative intuition.”

 

Betty’s sparkling laugh rang out clear and true in the nearly empty laundry room as she closed each of the three open washing machine lids she was using. A second later, she looked at Jug cryptically before hopping up on to the middle washing machine before folding her legs into a pretzel-shape. Jughead kept his eyes glued fastidiously to her face. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he prodded a little smugly, a suspicion beginning to take root in the back of his mind that her hop and sit routine had been a deliberate attempt to distract him.

 

Betty gave a tiny, relatively good-natured huff before finally saying, “Veronica.”

 

Jughead didn’t say a word, figuring that Betty would continue in her own time.

 

“So, you know how I mentioned when we met that Veronica was my roommate from college?” Jughead silently nodded. “Well, she was _the only_ roommate I had in college.”

 

At that, Jug raised his eyebrows. That was certainly a little unusual. 

 

“We’d gotten randomly assigned to live together in the freshmen dorms up at SUNY Plattsburgh. Both of us wound up there for different reasons, but long story short, we wound up becoming fast friends partially because of the shared experiences that had brought us to Plattsburgh to begin with.” She paused to look at him, carefully assessing his eyes. Whatever she found in them must’ve satisfied her because she continued on with a little more blunt honesty.

 

“You’ve met V. Being in control, always, is kind of a thing for her. Especially when it comes to controlling the narrative in social situations. A lot of that is a holdover from why she wound up at our college. Anyway, after spending the first few weeks of school feeling out of control and floundering, it occurred to her that the most powerful student social structure at the school was the Greek system, so she decided she was going to conquer it.”

 

Jughead raised a disbelieving eyebrow before saying, “Ok. So I understand how Veronica Lodge became a Greek, but you still haven’t told me how you wound up in a glorified girl gang.”

 

Betty laughed. “Veronica knows she’s not exactly the most socially approachable person on the planet, and I was really the only friend she’d made on campus before Rush. Veronica wasn’t going to be satisfied with just getting into _a_ sorority; she wanted to get into the _most powerful_ _and sought after_ house. A feat she knew she probably wasn’t going to pull off on her own since she wasn’t already friends with any of the sisters in the house. She needed me. We both knew that I was practically the poster child for what a sorority wanted in a pledge, so during Rush she made it clear at Delta Kappa Mu that if they wanted me to pledge them, we came as a package deal because she was the only person who could convince me to go Greek in the first place.” 

 

He was agog. “That’s a joke, right?” he managed to stutter out.

 

“Nope,” she’d replied so matter-of-factly it made Jughead’s heart ache a little for whatever made her think she needed to put herself in that position. 

 

Betty continued on as if he hadn’t interrupted her. “Anyway, her plan worked. We both got bids and we both pledged. And Veronica slowly began to execute her plan of dominating the Greek system. First as Pledge Class President, then Recruitment Chair, Vice President, and finally Delka Mu President. By the time we graduated, Delta Kappa Mu had the highest Greek GPA on campus three years running—weighted and unweighted—we’d raised the most money for charity, donated the most service hours, participated in the most University President’s Special Student Initiatives. Pretty much if there was an accolade to be had no matter how small or obscure, V made sure Delka Mu earned it.”

 

“Jesus,” Jug wheezed out, exhausted just from listening to it. “What about you though, Betty? I can’t imagine you were similarly motivated…” drifting off. Suddenly, the thought crossed his mind that maybe she had been. College had been a long time ago after all. He didn’t know how much, if at all, Betty might’ve changed since then.

 

“I was, and am, the ‘B to her V,’” Betty said with a slightly mirthless laugh. “The last thing I wanted was to be in the spotlight, but I recognized that making use of Veronica’s unique brand of persuasion could produce a lot of good if it was channelled appropriately. So despite her repeated, and I do mean _repeated,_ attempts to get me to be her various running mates, I always opted for the less political posts. I was the Social Committee Vice Chair for two years, and the Chair of the Philanthropy and Social Outreach Committee. I organized and ran the house-wide tutoring program, and served as sorority Secretary my Junior year. My biggest coup, though? Convincing V that it was a great idea to let me serve as the Delka Mu representative on the Pan-Hellenic Inter-fraternity Council.”

 

Jug looked at her uncomprehendingly, not being more than superficially aware of the ins-and-outs of Greek life.

 

“Being Pan-Hellenic,” Betty explained, “meant that I had to give up my allegiance to my specific house. It got me out of dealing with all of the internal power brokering Veronica was hellbent on doing in our Senior year to “preserve her legacy,” most of which I’d been completely over since we were Sophomores.” 

 

He was absolutely floored, which was probably a first for him, if he thought about it. His eyes wandered errantly over to her shirt, and he found himself unexpectantly blurting out, “So, what’s the deal with the ducks?”

 

Betty briefly looked down at her shirt and giggled. “It was one of the more popular charity fundraisers I helped organize. We basically sold tickets for an ultra high-end tequila taste testing. But you bought your tickets by flights and there were two pricing tiers. For $100 a flight, you got your shots on a regular shot board. For $250 or more, you got to pick one of the Delka Mu sisters who’d volunteered, and do body shots off them instead, with how much of the amount above $250 determining where on her body you were allowed to ask the sister to do shots off of.” 

 

All of the blood that Jughead had hereforeto successfully managed to keep out of his cock suddenly came rushing back with an almost physically staggering force as his mind traveled immediately back to the glimpse of Betty’s slick pussy that he’d seen earlier. He was beyond thankful that, like Betty, he was already sitting down on top of his washing machine, and more importantly, that he had his laptop placed _very_ strategically over his pelvis. 

 

Betty recognized the subconscious drumming of his fingers on the lid of his laptop before he did. Her tired eyes widened as much as they could as she started apologizing, “Oh my God, Jug! I’m so sorry. Here I am droning on and on about my silly college sorority days and you have work you wanted to get done. I’m so so sorry. I’ll stop bothering you now.”

 

The self-defeating tone of her voice scratched uneasily at his soul; it was certainly a sentiment he was more than familiar with—that feeling that even answering an invited question was actually just a matter of imposing your truly unwanted presence on the other person. He moved quickly to dispel her vastly incorrect assumptions. “Hardly a bother at all, Betty. I asked you about your sorority life, remember?” She gave him a small smile in return.

 

“But your work…” she started to suggest again.

 

He laughed. “The only “work” I have to do with this laptop is convincing you that Quentin Tarantino is the greatest film auteur of our generation.” Betty casually gave him a dose of side eye as the beginning credits for _Jackie Brown_ came across the screen. “Eyes front, Cooper,” he’d said with enough playful intensity that she gave him a cheeky salute before dutifully turning her undivided attention to the movie. 

 

And thus started their laundry night tradition: him and her, sitting on washing machines, huddling together over Jug’s laptop watching a selection of movies he carefully curated, while Betty seemed to wear skimpier and skimpier “laundry night’ outfits and Jug was increasingly faced with the sisyphean task of not acting on his basest instincts and just fucking her on the laundry room clothes folding shelf. 


	7. It's Not Much, But It's Mine....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty tries to expel some Alice Cooper-fueled doubts with a healthy dose of self love, and Jughead tries to be a good friend, but perhaps does a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you to each and every one of you who has taken the time to check out this story! I hope I'm making this a worthwhile journey for you. And may I extend an *extra* special thanks for all of you who take the time to leave kudos/send comments/bookmark for updates/reblog this story to get the word out--YOU ARE ALL AMAZING!!! I am so extremely humbled by your enjoyment of my work. 
> 
> Second, the slow burn can probably now be classified as a small fire, so there's that. ;-)
> 
> Third, a trigger warning may or may not be appropriate, so I'm going to err on the side of caution here. There is an implied reference to self-harm in this chapter through a description of Betty's travel wound care kit. Consider yourselves forewarned. Additionally, there is arguably a little dub-con in this chapter as well involving some unintended exhibitionism by Betty (although it is implied prior that exhibitionism may be a thing for her) and some accidental voyeurism by Jughead (he catches Betty having a moment, has a small crisis of conscience, but loses the appeal to his higher angels). If this type of dub-con is problematic for you, again, consider yourself warned.
> 
> Fourth, still un-beta'd, so I take full ownership of any errors.
> 
> Finally, I'm still working on figuring out this whole Tumblr thing. If you wanna come hit me up, you can find me @sunshinebunnie. :-)

Con Ed had been kind enough to postpone the latest scheduled “brownout” until after July 4th, which Betty would’ve been able to live with if not for the newest “green initiative” started by her office’s building manager. Earlier in the Spring, an e-mail had apparently been sent out to every company in their building informing them that: “In an effort to reduce the carbon footprint of the building, Facility Services will no longer be setting the building’s central air at 70 degrees. Going forward as of June 1st, the building’s air conditioning will be set at 78 degrees and it will only come on when  building-wide occupancy for the day is at 80% capacity or more based on badge swipes. Thank you!” At the time, it hadn’t seemed like such a big deal. Then two of the companies with the largest head counts in the building gave up their leases. The building’s central air hadn’t been turned on since the third week of June. 

 

That was why Betty had abandoned the inferno that was her office to finish her day working from home. At least at home she could strip off all the extra layers she had to wear at the office, and let her skin breathe. When she’d gotten back home on her lunch break, she quickly hopped in the iciest shower she’d ever taken in her life, before throwing on a pair of her ‘laundry night’ shorts and a crop top Veronica had gotten her on Spring Break one year that Betty purposefully kept balled in her underwear drawer for showing _way_ too much under-breast. The relative coolness of the floor was a welcome relief to Betty as she finished up working from home, holed up in her room. 

 

Just as she was wrapping her latest assignment and getting ready to logoff for the night, she got a text from Jughead. ‘Hey Betts! Didn’t see a note this morning, so wasn’t sure if you were planning to make dinner. Wanted to give you a head’s up though that I’m gonna be home late,’ Betty’s stomach twisted uncomfortably before her eyes had a chance to finish reading his text, ‘Pea is _insisting_ on going to the gym tonight.’ 

 

Inexplicably, Betty’s chest felt lighter knowing he was just off with Sweet Pea. She didn’t feel like grabbing her phone from the other side of the room, so she adeptly scribbled out a response on her Apple Watch. ‘Yeah, definitely *not* cooking tonight. Thanks for letting me know though, Juggie!  😊 ’ 

 

A minute later her watch pinged with his reply. ‘Grab sandwiches on the way home?’

 

She smirked. Even though she knew he meant that he’d _grab_ the sandwiches, she was in the mood to devil him a little bit.

 

‘You’re gonna make me a sandwich, Jug…?’

 

The minutes that stretched on before he replied lead Betty to suspect that he’d typed out an answer only to change his mind several times before she finally saw ‘Best damn sandwich you’ve ever had, Betts.  😉 ’ pop up on her phone. 

 

She laughed until her ribs started to ache. ‘Well, in that case…’ she typed and sent first, followed quickly by ‘I’ll have a chicken caesar wrap, please! You’re the best, Juggie!!’ 

 

Betty didn’t even need to see the cocky-looking emoji he replied back with to envision his sardonic smirk perfectly etched in her mind’s eye. 

 

In all reality, Jughead’s unexpected delay both relieved and disappointed Betty. On the one hand, their apartment was still uncomfortably hot, and the thought of putting on “real” clothes stifled her. (She still hadn’t built up the courage to wear her “laundry night” clothes just to lounge around in when he was home.) But, on the other, it always made her a little sad when she lost some of their “roommate” time. In this case, roommate time that was going to be cut even shorter this weekend because of Veronica.

 

Betty unpeeled herself from where she’d inadvertently gotten glued to the floor by her sticky, sweaty skin, and sighed. If she was going to be spending the weekend at Veronica’s “humble beach cabana,” she probably needed to start packing. Padding over to her closet, she pulled out her “Veronica” bag—the oversized overnight bag with her monogrammed initials that Veronica had gotten both of them for Spring Break back when they were Sophomores. She quickly opened the interior side zip pocket to see if it still had the travel bottles of Advil, Tylenol, and Aleve from their last trip. It did. Then, she made sure to check if the expiration dates were still good. They were.A small tin case tucked behind the bottles caught her eye, and she hesitated for a second before she took it out. The lid opened easily from repeated use. Nestled neatly inside were a couple bundles of different sized bandaids, a handful of disposable alcohol wipes, and some travel-size packets of gauze wadding. That the tin was still almost full made Betty smile; it was a tangible sign of how much better she’d gotten since Veronica first met her. Carefully, she closed the tin and put it back in the bag where she’d found it.

 

Moving over to her bureau, she pulled out a couple soft cotton t-shirts along with a mix of denim and chino shorts, and methodically added them to the bag. Then, she grabbed a lingerie bag and threw in several pairs of underwear and a couple bras. Finally, she reached into the farthest corner of her intimates drawer, pulling out several different bikinis. 

 

Looking over the swimwear, Betty couldn’t help but smile. If not for Veronica, she’d still probably be wearing Alice Cooper-approved black body-contouring one pieces, maybe a navy one if she was feeling especially daring. After they’d gotten their Delka Mu bids Freshman year, Veronica had wanted to celebrate by hitting up a foam party one of the campus fraternities was hosting. V’s jaw _actually dropped_ when she’d seen Betty come out of their communal bathroom in her all black racing back Speedo one piece. After getting over her initial shock (“This is a joke, right, B?”), in classic Veronica fashion she’d simply steamrolled over the problem (“You have an amazing body that was meant to be idolized. Veronica Lodge is on the job!”). Three hours, about ten stores, and _way_ more money than Betty would ever admit to spending on clothing she couldn’t wear in multiple situations later, Betty was the proud owner of five _Veronica Lodge_ -approved bikinis. 

 

As the years went on and she got more comfortable exposing so much of her body in public, Betty soon began to have as much fun as Veronica seemed to over picking out her swimwear for the summer. This year, she’d picked out a couple of go-to string tie bikinis with substantial coverage for her breasts; however, on a whim, she’d also picked out one bikini she felt was a notably daring choice. It was a combination of teal and sea foam green chevrons which highlighted the color of her eyes, what little of the material there was. The triangles of the top were so small, they barely amounted to glorified pasties, and the thong-style bikini bottom left nearly next to nothing to the imagination below her waist. 

 

The longer she looked at the bikini, the more Betty began to feel like buying it was an epic mistake. 

 

‘You should put it on,’ her inner Veronica piped up. ‘The only way you’ll feel more confident wearing it in public is by getting more comfortable about wearing it general,’ the voice added logically. Betty figured imaginary Veronica had a point. Besides, her apartment was still beastly hot and she was still sweating pretty consistently in her current outfit no matter how little Betty thought it covered. It wasn’t like anyone was around to see her in it anyway.

 

She slipped out of her crop top and shorts, throwing the sweaty garments into her laundry basket, and quickly put her barely-there bikini on in its place. Fidgeting, she adjusted the top’s triangles, then adjusted them again, trying to get used to the sensation of almost 98% of her breasts being exposed. Her fingers reflexively started to curl toward her palms until she forced herself to take a deep calming breath. ‘There is _nothing_ wrong with your body. You are a rock star goddess who deserves to wear whatever the fuck makes her feel sexy,’ she thought emphatically. And to be perfectly honest with herself, Betty did feel sexy; she felt sexy in a way that she hid deep down inside, that she _liked_ to be watched, that it turned her on to wear something that nearly begged a man to fuck her in public. It made her feel powerful. 

 

‘The first step to getting comfortable wearing the bikini in public is to get comfortable wearing it at all,’ she repeated in her mind like a mantra. Relaxing her shoulders, she walked out of her room and into the apartment’s living room. The dying sunlight had given way to a warm twilight glow that was punctuated by the flicker of candlelights slowly coming to life in the various apartment buildings around them. Betty walked across the apartment as casually as she could muster. A white wine spritzer would be just the thing to help boost her initial confidence. Grabbing one of her “rocks” glasses, she wound up making a drink that was more wine than spritz. She took a sip anyway. The wine did wonders as the clean grassy notes hit her tongue. There was just one thing wrong—it was a little too warm, much like everything else it seemed. Turning her attention back to the freezer, Betty grabbed a couple of ice cubes from the ice maker and added them to her drink.As she watched the wine react with the ice causing it to crackle and crack, Betty was struck by a sudden inspiration. She dug her medium size stainless steel mixing bowl out from its cupboard and carefully filled it with ice. 

 

Betty had planned to sit on the couch with her ice and her drink and just relax. She really, really had. But then she’d put her drink down on their melamine dining room table when she’d been forced to readjust how she was holding the ice bowl and she realized just how much _cooler_ the table felt than anything else in the apartment, including the floor. She’d leaned over and smushed her face against the table’s surface to confirm. It was cool and decidedly resin-free. Betty quickly tossed back the rest of her drink, set the ice bowl on one of the chairs in such a way that she could easily reach it, and then climbed up on the table and laid down. Her skin immediately felt like the heat in the apartment dropped ten degrees. Grabbing one of the elongated pieces of the ice from the mixing bowl, she began running the frozen water all around the column of her neck and across her collar bone. Betty sighed in perfect contentment.

 

She went on like that for a solid half an hour—running the ice cubes along her neck, along her arms, across her stomach until they eventually melted. It was as Betty was drawing the blunt edge of the ice cube over the spaces between her ribs that her brain vaguely recognized the heavy fullness of her breasts and the teasing tautness of her aching, erect nipples. Without giving herself a chance to overthink it, she took a fresh piece of ice from the bowl and teased it along the material covering her nipples. They tightened even further as they sought out any kind of attention and relief. She ran the ice over the slivers of fabric a few more times before taking her teasing up a notch, sliding the rapidly melting cube _under_ the fabric of her top until she’d run the frozen water over her nipples enough to make them numb. She decided to test this theory by grazing her finger nails along her excited peaks before pinching and twisting them. Her actions caused a physical pull to answer in her pussy. 

 

Not wanting to rush her experiment, she took a new ice cube from the bowl and dragged it exceedingly slowly across the top of her pelvic bone where the top of her thong bikini bottoms ended. She hissed through her teeth at the erotic sensation as her pussy began to gently pulsate. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she closed her eyes to better focus on the sensations her body was experiencing, grabbed one more fresh ice cube, and gently moved the scrap of fabric barely hiding her nethers to one side before languidly running the rapidly melting frozen water over her waxed lips.

 

Her fingers were so numb from running so much ice over her body that it took her brain a full minute to process that she had started lazily massaging her plumped up clit. Her breath hitched for a moment before she let out a deeply contented sigh. The dueling sensations of the cold ice and the muggy air against her skin had flicked a switch on her libido that she was desperate to satisfy. Using the pads of her fingertips, she applied more pressure to her clit as she rubbed the slippery nub with increasing speed. Her voice let out a keening whine as she felt a building desperation for the friction she knew she needed to orgasm. Methodically, she worked her middle and index fingers more harshly over the concentrated source of her pleasure, her voice breaking into a series of short, breathy chirps, as she rocked her hips against her fingertips faster and faster as her body approached the point of no return. She squeaked out one clipped “Ah!”as the rhythmic waves of pleasure rolled over her, her hand hanging limply off the side of the table as she smiled lazily in contentment. 

 

Just as she was ready to drift off into a sleepy post-orgasmic haze, her watch dinged, alerting her to a new text message. Jughead’s name popped up on her watch display with a brief message, ‘Just grabbed the sandwiches! Be home in 10.’ 

 

Despite the mild protesting of her contented body, Betty rolled herself off the table and lazily walked back to her room to change back into something more appropriate before Jug got home.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

He shouldn’t have done it. It was creepy and a completely fundamental breach of Betty’s trust, but he couldn’t help himself: he’d watched her get herself off.

 

When he’d gotten to the gym, Sweet Pea had already worked himself up into a lather, barely even waiting for Jug to climb over the ropes into the ring before he started swinging. If it were anyone else, he would’ve been irate at being effectively sucker punched, but in this case, he’d kind of expected something like that to happen. He and Sweet Pea had already been to the gym once that week and it was unusual for them to stack another session so close to one another. But when Jug had gotten his friend’s text to meet him at the gym as soon as he could make it, he knew it was serious. 

 

He’d let the taller man wail on him pretty mercilessly for a few rounds to let him burn off whatever emotional discord was bothering him faster before he started returning his swings with interest. His tactic had worked. Sweet Pea ran out of steam after about a half an hour at which point he’d admitted to his friend that he’d just ended things with his latest lady. He had discovered painfully that she had not been nearly as serious about him as he’d been about her if the hickeys that weren’t his littering her neck were any indication. Jughead felt bad for the man. Despite his appearance and general attitude suggesting he was a stone cold badass, Sweet Pea was really just a cream puff on the inside. It was a hidden weakness that was unfortunately all too easily exploited as he chased after happiness and contentment with all the wrong kinds of women.

 

Given that it was way too damn hot to keep going for a few non-therapeutic rounds, not to mention he’d promised Betty dinner, Jug had agreed to meet up with his friend over the weekend for some drinks, and headed home early.

 

He didn’t even think to text Betty about the change of plans given his own excitement over losing less time than he’d anticipated to hang out with her.

 

The first thing he noticed when he got home with their food were the breathy contented sighs filtering into the privacy hallway. He stopped dead in his tracks as his ears went into high alert. Holding his breath, he waited anxiously and listened. Betty’s soft voice filtered over to him again. 

 

His cock immediately began to harden and twitch as he imagined precisely what she was doing to make such tantalizing sounds. Just as his mind was beginning to paint a fairly graphic picture of Betty in an utterly debauched state, his conscience tried to talk him down from his lecherous thoughts. ‘Whatever Betty’s doing, she clearly wouldn’t be doing it if she knew you were home, so you need to do the honorable thing.’ 

 

It _was_ true, and he _did_ need to do the honorable thing. 

 

And then he remembered the sandwiches. Even if he didn’t mind taking another walk around the block to give Betty a chance to finish what she was doing in peace, it was probably best from a safety perspective if he put away his Reuben and her chicken caesar wrap in the fridge first.

When he approached the hallway cutout to the kitchen, Jughead stopped short. There, right in front of him, looking like a debauched Valkyrie, was Betty sprawled out on their dining room table in what appeared to his eyes to be elaborate pasties and a muff covering, pinching and teasing her turgid nipples. Hanging back, keeping himself obscured in the shadows, he’d kept watching and listening, cataloguing _every_ minute piece of information (down to her toe nail polish) for his own personal use later.His eyes were glued to her hands as he watched them dip back into the bowl of ice over and over again before trailing themselves all over her body.

 

When he finally saw her start playing with her clit, he thought he was going to spontaneously combust. Each moment seemed to stretch into infinity as he caught himself panting out soft breaths in time with her own, his hand casually traveling down his body and across his torso to firmly palm his engorged cock through his work out shorts. His mouth began to wateras he imagined walking up to her and replacing her frustrated fingers with his eager, skillful tongue, letting her ride his mouth until he forced her to cum for him. Just as he felt the last frayed strands of his self-control begin to snap, Betty keened and shuddered, the gentle aftershocks of her orgasm rippling through her like placid waves. 

 

As he watched her hand droop limply over the side of the dining room table, he knew he needed to act before she discovered on her own the shameful thing he’d not only done, but was fully intent on addressing further once he hopped intothe shower. He grabbed his phone and quickly tapped out the lie, thankful that he’d remembered to leave his phone on silent after he’d left the gym. 

 

After watching her saunter back to her room, he gave himself close to what he thought ten minutes was before noisily opening the front door and making a big show about “just” getting home. He’d quickly thrown the sandwiches into the fridge before making a mad dash toward the shower calling out as he went that he ‘was extra sweaty today’ after his training session with Sweet Pea and that he was in desperate need of a shower before anything else. The last thing he heard as he turned the water on in the shower was the quiet sound of Betty’s bedroom door opening.

 

Although he wanted to ideally take his time replaying the images of Betty’s table-top masturbation session as he worked himself slowly to completion in the shower, he knew the luxury of time was not on his side. Instead, he stood under the icy tendrils of the shower head leaning against the wall on one forearm as he gripped his already leaking cock in one hand and worked himself over with fast, purposeful strokes. He bit his lip to the point of bleeding as he came, refusing to risk any chance that Betty might figure out the nasty, disgusting thoughts he entertained about defiling her. He spent a few more minutes in the shower after coming just letting the water wash over him, cleansing him before he aimed the shower head as the wall to wash any lingering traces of his ejaculate off the tile. When he was completely satisfied with his ability to face Betty without embarrassing himself, he got out of the shower, quickly toweled off his hair and then wrapped the slightly damp towel around his hips to head back to his bedroom to change into dry, clean clothes.


	8. Sand Under Your Toes or Wind In Your Hair Is Good for the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty has a Girls' Weekend, Veronica debates the merits of her men, Jughead is not a spectacularly great friend, and Sweet Pea has a Coming to Jesus talk with his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First--THANK YOU for taking the time to read this story. I really really appreciate you using your valuable time to check out my humble work. Also, an extra special thank you to all of you who take the additional time to kudos/comment/bookmark/reblog this story! You are amazingly wonderful, and it means the world to me that you find this story worth engaging with further by letting me know your thoughts on it.
> 
> Second, I'm adding a warning here. This chapter does mention alcohol use, and not necessarily in a way that a healthy coping mechanism. If this is a trigger for you, PLEASE CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED.
> 
> Third, this work is un-beta'd so all errors and omissions are mine.
> 
> Fourth--apologies for the delay in getting this out. This chapter was a bit of a beast to write because it's a bit more angst-y than my usual fare. A necessary evil though, unfortunately. But at least you get a monster of a chapter out of it?
> 
> Last, if you're interested in reaching out, you can find me on the Tumblr @sunshinebunnie. Still trying to figure it all out, but there it is. :-)

Jughead Jones had never eaten a sandwich so slowly in his life. Quite frankly, he’d never eaten anything resembling food so slowly before. He focused on taking small bites of his Reuben, ruminating with each mash of his jaw the way the flavors of the Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, corned beef, and Russian dressing balanced one another out. ‘Not unlike you and Betty…’ his less helpful inner voice tried to distract him. Jughead swallowed before taking a significantly more forceful bite of his sandwich and chewing the bite much more purposefully. He let his borderline aggressive sandwich eating drown out the inner voice in his head. 

 

By the time he’d eaten half his sandwich, he decided to risk a glance over at Betty. She was cradling her wrap between her hands, nibbling on pieces of lettuce that had wilted in the oppressive summer heat; a vacant, distracted look in her eyes, and a small smile of contentment ghosting over her lips periodically. 

 

His inner devil wanted to ask Betty what she was thinking about, curious to see her reaction, secretly hoping she was thinking about him.

 

They continued to eat in silence.

 

In the end, Betty was the one who broke the air of quiet between them. “Thanks for making dinner, Jug,” she said with a new twinkle in her eyes.

 

He let out a short laugh. “Well, I’m just glad you liked it. I _slaved_ over those sandwiches, I’ll have you know,” he said stoically. 

 

It was her turn to laugh as she replied, “Oh, I can tell. The efforts of your culinary exertion are written all over your face.” 

 

Jughead’s shoulders seized up as a momentary flash of panic coursed through him. ‘She doesn’t know she doesn’t know she doesn’t know she doesn’t know’ beat in his mind like a steady bass line. His next chuckle came out more forced than he intended. Luckily, Betty didn’t seem to notice his sudden attack of awkwardness.

 

A moment later, he realized she didn’t notice because she’d started getting up from the dining room table to throw out their sandwiches’ used butcher paper wrappers from the deli. 

 

“You didn’t have to throw out my trash, Betts,” he said in a vaguely apologetic tone.

 

She threw him a look over her shoulder, her ponytail swinging friskily behind her, as she replied, “You cooked, so it’s my turn to clean the dishes tonight.” Her cheeky wink did him in. He laughed so hard he started tearing up. 

 

When he finally settled down from his laughing fit, he noticed all of the uncomfortable tension he’d been feeling throughout dinner was gone. Moving on the memories of his recent past, Jughead turned his eye to the future. “The weather guy was saying this morning that with the heat index it’s going to feel like its 100 degrees all weekend, so I vote we do a bunch of indoor stuff. I saw a bunch of new foreign films are opening at the Angelika tomorrow as part of a film retrospective they’re running this weekend. We could go check that out, if you want?” 

 

She barely got past saying “Oh, Juggie…” when the sad twinge in her voice suddenly deflated all of his revived easy confidence. He immediately started backpedalling, “No, it’s cool, Betts. You don’t have to say anything. It was just an idea. You know? To escape the heat. It’s totally not a big deal…”

 

The kind look in her eyes managed to capture his attention long enough for her to interrupt his exercise in self-abasement, “No, Jug, it’s not that I don’t want to. I’d _love_ to go with you because that sounds awesome, but I can’t. Veronica already decided to kidnap me this weekend…” she drifted off with an embarrassed shrug of her shoulders. 

 

He ground his teeth to keep from saying something petulantly stupid. Although it worked to keep him from unloading his frustrations on to Betty, it did nothing to dispel his increasingly more entrenched belief that Veronica Lodge was the bane of his existence.

 

Betty’s soft voice washed over him, its normally tranquilizing effect somewhat muted by her words, “It’s just til Sunday. Besides, I’m sure you’ll be happy to have the apartment back to yourself for a couple days…” her voice died off with her unspoken implication. 

 

“You’re hardly an imposing roommate, Betts. It’s not exactly like I’ve had to _suffer_ your company these past couple months,” he said drily.

 

He watched her face bloom with a becoming crimson hue across her cheeks as her eyes suddenly fluttered downward. He was so transfixed by her reaction, he almost missed her stumbled-over, mumbled explanation. “I just meant…I mean…you know…having me here would be awkward to explain…if you wanted to bring someone home…to… _entertain_ …” It took him several seconds for the meaning behind her words to register in his brain, not recognizing her parroted euphemism at first. When they did though, he was glad he wasn’t drinking anything or he knew he’d have done a spit take. 

 

The dramatic flair of his “Oh!”when he finally understood her meaning caused her head to whip up to his face. It was his turn to be an incoherent idiot as he lost all his linear thoughts staring into her comically wide eyes. “That’s…I mean…you don’t have to worry…I mean…not like that…It’s just…I mean…you being here isn’t a problem…Ummm…so…yeah…” 

 

He had never wanted a drink, or even just a sinkhole to open up beneath him, quite so badly in his entire life. Before he had a chance to beat a hasty retreat from the suddenly oppressive awkwardness between them, Betty beat him to it muttering something about how late it was as she fled back to the safety of her room. Jug continued to sit in moderately stunned silence for a moment after he heard the door of her room click shut before quietly banging his head repeatedly against the table. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

When he woke the next morning, he more than half expected there to be some lingering effects from how awkwardly they’d ended their conversation. Betty being Betty, however, had apparently refused to remain stuck in a bubble of discomfort with him. Sitting on their kitchen counter was a foiled-covered plate with a still warm ham, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich, next to which was a full pot of coffee and his favorite coffee mug along with a bag from Dean & Deluca with a walnut zucchini bread muffin in it. (He’d deny it in public, of course, but privately, he’d admitted to her once that he harbored a soft spot for this particular overpriced pastry of theirs.) His heart swelled. As he was debating whether to eat the sandwich or the muffin first, his eyes fell on the note Betty left next to the coffee pot. His eyes flew over the delicate script of her penmanship—a marked contrast to his own garbled scrawlings—‘V’s edict implied she was having me picked up at the office, so I probably won’t see you before I leave. Have some fun this weekend, Juggie! I’ll be home Sunday night some time probably after 6. Betty.’ He was just about to put the note back when his eyes floated down to the bottom of the paper where Betty had added a cheeky post-script: ‘Don’t forget to eat while I’m gone!’ 

 

“Never,” he said sincerely, into the emptiness of the apartment, just as he took a sizable bite of his homemade breakfast sandwich.

 

*************************************************************************************

Work had been hell all day. Two of the reporters whose work she was supposed to be editing had completely blown off the deadlines she’d given them. One of the two reporters was relatively new, having just graduated from Betty’s dream school, Columbia University’s School of Journalism, so Betty was a little more forgiving of the blown deadline. (It helped that she had already factored this possibility into her _initial_ deadline.) She’d sent the reporter back a sternly worded e-mail informing them that she would do what she could _this_ time to make sure the piece got to print on time, but that Betty wouldn’t make any promises going forward, so it was the reporter’s responsibility to make sure their submissions were in by deadline. The other reporter, on the other hand, was a very seasoned veteran, and Betty had already heard horror stories from the other members of the editorial staff. He was infamous for trying to pull these power moves on all the new editors in an attempt to see just how much they’d let him get away with because of who he was. The worst it’d ever been was when he’d gotten an article in two days’ past his editing/fact checking deadline and the junior editor assigned spent eighteen hours straight doing both jobs so that the article would be ready for print, only to have the editor-in-chief cut the entire piece because of 9/11. 

 

On top of her reporter drama, the building hadn’t met the target goal for unique badge swipes for Facility Services to turn on the air conditioning. This in turn meant that her office on the 31st floor on the sunniest side of the building was the journalistic equivalent of working on the Sun. The hassle and annoyance of dealing with the sweat and the heat-induced lethargy and the generally shitty attitudes of the other editors and some of the most pervasive, God-awful personal hygiene (or lack thereof) smells would have been enough on their own for people in her office to go full _Network_ ; however, all of these issues were infinitely compounded by the server slowness all of their computers were experiencing because of the extreme heat. To say both productivity and newsroom morale were near all-time lows was the Peabody-winning understatement of the year.

 

There was one other thing that had been sticking in her craw all day. Even though she was excited about the prospect of going to the Lodge’s house in the Hamptons for a Girls’ Getaway Weekend with Veronica, she was a little nervous and apprehensive about being away from Jughead for so long. In the almost four months that they had lived together as roommates, Betty and Jughead had never spent their nights anywhere other than at home together. There was a comfort and familiarity to their routine that she craved. ‘Really? A _disrupted routine_ is what you’re concerned about?’ Betty’s inner devil had tormented. ‘Or is it the fact that Jug will finally have the perfect opportunity to have some female company in his bed?’ the voice had needled. She’d just begun to feel the firm press of nails against the fleshy part of her palms when the sound of her phone’s text message alert chimed. As she lifted up her phone, it woke up illuminating the screen with the text sender’s identity: it was Veronica. ‘Downstairs in 15’ was all it said. Betty huffed out a small, partially discontented breath of air before packing up her desk for the weekend. 

 

By the time Betty got downstairs in the elevator and out on to the sidewalk, Andre was already standing around waiting next to a sleek black SUV. One illegally tinted rear passenger window slowly descended revealing Veronica, in oversized black sunglasses in what appeared to be a strapless summer dress, holding a mimosa. “B! Hurry!” V had said enthusiastically from the perfectly climate-controlled interior of the vehicle. “Your drink is starting to sweat!” Betty just shook her head at her former roommate’s antics, carefully handing her weekend bag to Andre to put in the trunk. 

 

Veronica had handed Betty a drink as soon as she’d slid into the backseat with her. While V’s “anytime, anywhere” bartending skills had impressed the young Cooper woman since college, she’d been even more impressed by Veronica’s ability to talk continuously for hours without seemingly needing to breathe. The petite brunette had launched into a diatribe that started with the weather and only paused mid-way through a breakdown of her current Archie versus Reggie dilemma three-and-a-half hours later when they’d pulled into the driveway of her parents’ house in Southampton. 

 

Although Veronica was a domineering conversationalist, she was an _impeccable_ hostess, never allowing Betty’s glass to get less than halfway empty before “topping her off” with increasing larger ratios of champagne to orange juice during the entire drive. The incredibly solid buzz Betty had going definitely helped her just sit and nod along at appropriate intervals, like she suspected Veronica wanted, in addition to more than erasing her own shitty day at work. Unfortunately, the alcohol also had the side effect of making Betty amazingly horny, which was not helped in the slightest by V’s dissertation on how Reggie and Archie stacked up as lovers. 

 

“Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” Veronica had drunk-whined, “I don’t know what to do! I mean, Archiekins is such a sweet, thoughtful lover. He’ll just spend _hours_ going down on me simply because I had a bad day at work. But Reggie…” She started fanning herself at the thought. “Oh my God, Betty!” she continued salaciously. “Now there is _a man_. Some of the things he’s done to me, I’ve only ever heard whispered about…”

 

Betty felt her eyes glaze over a little as her friend started into a particularly graphic description of something Reggie had recently done to her involving a leather belt, fifteen feet of nylon rope, strawberry-flavored edible massage oil, a blindfold and a studded leather cock ring. Unwittingly, she felt her mind, in its drunken stupor, drift over to Jughead. Although he was always nothing but thoughtful and considerate toward her, she got the distinct impression that he would absolutely be a dominating partner in bed. Her thighs involuntarily clenched tighter together at the thought. With his athletically toned body, eminently fuckable mouth, erotically charged blue eyes, and hair that screamed out to be pulled, Betty had no doubts about easily he could find female companionship for an evening. As the thought of Jughead possibly bringing some eager-to-please woman back to their apartment that very night took root in her imagination, she felt a very distinctive pull deep in her pussy. The tug felt uncomfortably like a primal urge; that she needed to mark him with her scent and her body so that any other woman who saw him would know he was already claimed and to just keep dreaming. Her lips pursed in a grim line as she mentally tried to rid herself of the completely unwarranted thoughts. They were merely friends. He was free to let anyone he wanted bounce on his dick regardless of whatever uncharitable thoughts Betty might harbor on the matter. 

 

It wasn’t until Betty registered a very uncharacteristic sigh coming out of her friend’s mouth that she was finally able to tear her thoughts away from her own, entirely made-up, boy problem. 

 

“Oh, V…” she said in her most sympathetic voice as she pulled the brunette’s head down on to her shoulder and started stroking her hair. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

‘You up for that drink?’ Jughead wound up texting Sweet Pea at 9:30 that night. As the minutes ticked by while he waited for his friend’s response, Jug watched his leg twitch almost uncontrollably, either from nerves or far too much coffee, although he was dubious it was the latter. Eventually, at 9:37, Sweet Pea got back to him with a ‘ 👍🏼 ’ The Jones man shutdown his laptop for the night, checked his beanie to make sure it wasn’t completely drenched in sweat, and made sure the suspenders hanging down from his hips weren’t tangled before he set off, wallet, keys and phone all securely in his pockets. 

 

Even though it was a Friday night, because of the unprecedented heat wave New York City was experiencing, the Whyte Wyrm was significantly less crowded than normal. Even without the smaller crowd size in the bar, Jughead would’ve easily been able to pick out his friend sitting moodily at the back, side bar like the human embodiment of a dark cloud. As he approached the bar, he called over to the bartender he recognized as a man named Tall Boy, “I’ll take a glass of whatever happy juice you’re serving him,” nodding over at Pea. Jug watched his friend glower at the bartender as Tall Boy barked out a sharp laugh at his jape. 

 

Sweet Pea was intently focused on his glass of whisky as he muttered just quietly enough under his breath so only Jughead could hear him, “You really had to say that to him? You know he’s the biggest asshole who works here.” 

Jughead knew it was a dick move as he was saying it, but he’d been stewing in his own unpleasant thoughts for so long that afternoon that he didn’t even give a second thought to stopping the words coming out of his mouth. His uncomfortable twinge of conscience was quickly starting to bloom into a gnawing pang of regret, so he’s placed his hand on his friend’s back, to ensure he had his attention, before saying in an equally low, but utterly sincere voice, “Sorry, Pea.” 

 

The taller man studied him for a second in contemplative silence as he came to some unspoken conclusion. He nodded at Jug as he slid on to the bar stool next to him. Soon after he sat down, Tall Boy placed a generous pour of whisky in front of him as he handed over his credit card to start a tab.Sweet Pea raised a questioning eyebrow at his friend’s out of character request. “Are you planning to stop at two?” Jughead had responded almost challengingly, to which his friend noncommittally shrugged. The young Jones man smirked, “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

 

They drank together in a companionable silence that Jughead could rarely enjoy with people for the next hour—each man letting his own troubling thoughts swim in increasingly deeper pools of alcohol. 

 

“I was such a fool,” the taller man finally said sadly. “There were so many signs that Midge didn’t feel the same way about me as I felt about her, but I refused to believe them…” He took a deep drink from his glass, leaving only the barest sheen of whisky residue on the bottom of the glass. Jughead just nodded sagely. As Tall Boy set a new drink in front of Sweet Pea though, he decided to weigh in on the younger man’s laments, “That’s the problem with women, boy. They want to be stuffed full of dick just as much, if not more, than _we_ want to use them to get our dicks wet. You can’t trust a single one of them as far as you could throw them. That’s why you can’t ever think about getting tied down to one of them. Use ‘em to warm a bed when it’s cold, but kick ‘em to the curb in the morning.” 

 

Both young men were so far in the drink that they found themselves nodding in agreement with the bartender’s logic before they really had a chance to process what he’d said. It was only after the grizzled-looking older man had moved to the other end of the bar to serve a couple dubiously-college-aged girls that the sheer offensiveness of his words finally filtered through the alcohol in both men’s minds enough for them to be pissed off about it. Jughead watched Tall Boy interact with the girls at the other end of the bar just long enough for the older man to start thinking that at least one of them was going home with them when he helpfully piped up, “Make sure he wraps it up, ladies! Otherwise you won’t like all your souvenirs.” Tall Boy turned to face the two men with a murderous rage radiating off him as the two girls moved to the toward bar’s small dance floor throwing one last disgusted look at the bartender over their shoulders. Jug gave him a completely unapologetic shit-eating grin before shrugging his shoulders in a “sorry not sorry” gesture. Sweet Pea just shook his head as he laughed silently into his drink. Right as Tall Boy was about to reach them, Hog- Eye called him back to the office. By the time the men left an hour later, they still hadn’t seen him return from the office. 

 

“You know you’re gonna probably have to avoid going to the Wyrm for a while, right?” Sweet Pea mentioned to his friend as they drunkenly stumble-walked backed to Jughead’s apartment. 

 

The Jones man just shrugged. If that was the consequence for a noble cause, it was worth it. 

 

They shambled a few more blocks in silence until Sweet Pea spoke up again. “What’s with you, Jones?”

 

Jughead gave his friend a questioning glare as his alcohol-soaked brain prepared for a fight. Sweet Pea just ignored him as he added, “I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re still a mouthy bastard, but you’re not usually in the bag when you start popping off.” 

 

Jug nodded along with every word as he tried to work through their meaning. Maybe that’s why he didn’t have a chance with Betty. She was everything that was right with the world, and he was just a mouthy bastard. 

 

“Jones…Jones…Jug!” Sweet Pea tried to get his friend’s attention before pulling him away from his impending collision course with a solar powered trash can.

 

Instead of even the cursory “thank you” he expected, Jughead just gave his taller friend a noticeably more despondent shrug. Sweet Pea finally snapped. “Get your head out of your ass, Jones. I’m the one that got cheated on, but you’re the one acting like you got dumped! Whatever your problem is… _get over it_. It’s not always _about_ you!” 

 

That finally got a reaction. “What do you want from me, Pea?! You want me to have an answer for why your girl cheated? I don’t. You want me to understand how you feel? I can’t. It’s never happened to me. I don’t have the first clue what you’re going through.”

 

“You ever stop to think for a minute why that is, Jughead? When’s the last time you even had a girlfriend?Two years ago? Three? You don’t understand how I feel? What a shock. The great Jughead Jones has never looked forward to going home because he knows there’s someone there who’ll be happy to see him no matter how shitty his day has been. He’s never had someone who would worry about whether something happened to him if he got home later than he planned. And you couldn’t possibly understand how it feels to just drop into bed with someone after a long day and lay there doing nothing with them simply because their presence is enough, even if all you do is sleep.” 

 

“You know what, Sweet Pea, _fuck you_! You don’t know the first thing about my life.” Jughead stormed off up West 4th Street without a second glance. It was only after he’d gotten two blocks away that he distantly heard his friend yelling, “And whose fault is that?!”

 

*************************************************************************************

 

After she’d slid off the obscenely comfortable California King-sized bedVeronica had put her up in the night before, Betty had crawled over to her bag and dug around in it half blindly until her hand found the zip pocket with her stash of hangover meds. Grabbing the first bottle she touched, she pulled it out, and struggled for a minute with the cap before she was finally able to shake two blessed pills into her hand. She quickly tossed them in her mouth, ignoring the pills’ bitter taste as she struggled to dry swallow them. When she eventually felt the pills pass out of her esophagus, she dropped back down, face first, into the deep cream plush pile of the guest room’s carpeting. “I am never drinking again,” she mumbled into the floor, her face smushed awkwardly by its position against the carpet.

 

As if on cue, Veronica swanned into her room with an elan Betty was occasionally envious of. 

 

“Betty dear, time to get up! This Bloody Mary isn’t going to drink itself,” Veronica chirped with a perkiness normally reserved for her friend.

 

The dying blonde on the floor merely glared at her friend while she worked out how to shush Veronica without actually raising her head. Veronica just ignored her as she placed the Bloody Mary she’d walked in with on the floor within inches of Betty’s hand. Betty’s fingers delicately wrapped around the glass as she carefully pulled it toward her mouth. After choking down a few sips of the oddly chunky drink, Betty chanced sitting up. “How are you not dying right now?” Betty asked incredulously.

 

Veronica arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow as she responded “A Lodge _never_ shows weakness, Betty.” 

 

Betty just groaned in response. “Finish your drink,” Veronica commanded, “We have a full day ahead of us.”

 

The blonde continuing drinking her hangover cure under protest as she waited for Veronica to explain these “plans” they had for the day. Her best friend did not keep her in suspense for long.

 

“First, B, we’ve got a full spa day planned. Massages, mani/pedis, waxing touch-ups if you need it.” She paused with a glint in her eyes that made Betty nervous. “Then, _boy talk_.” Betty dropped her head back on to the carpet as she watched Veronica’s royal purple dressing gown swish out of the room from the corner of her eye. 

 

Betty laid on the carpet for a minute debating how likely it was that Veronica would come after her if she wasn’t dressed and ready in a Veronica Lodge-approved amount of time. As much as she wanted to believe otherwise, she knew that when Veronica had a plan nothing on earth would dissuade her from executing it. Taking a deep breath that she instantly regretted as a small wave of nausea hit her,Betty struggled to her feet and ambled slowly over to the bathroom attached to her room. 

 

A half an hour later, Betty felt decidedly more human, the steady stream of hot water pouring forth from the shower jets doing wonders for scrubbing off the lingering city grime from the day before. Throwing on a collared pastel pink t-shirt and a pair of light tan chino shorts, she pulled her hair back into her standard ponytail before slipping her feet into a pair of pristine white Keds. Taking a second to smooth out any lingering wrinkles in her clothes from being packed in her overnight bag, she headed downstairs to join Veronica. 

 

“You look like you’re getting ready to go yachting with the Kennedys!” Veronica squealed. “Perfect!” 

 

*************************************************************************************

 

By the time the two women returned to the beach house,it was nearing dinner, so Veronica had ordered in from her favorite local bistro, and cracked open a bottle of viognier as they waited for Andre to return with their food. Betty took the smallest sip of her wine that she believed her friend would let her get away with. The brunette just watched her blonde counterpart contemplatively from across the kitchen for a moment as she thoughtfully savored her wine. Although Betty had no reason to feel uncomfortable after a full day of decadent spa indulgence, Veronica’s uncharacteristically pensive mood worried her. Finally, Veronica set her wine glass down on the rose-colored marble countertop behind her with a soft clink. There was an ominousness to the sound that set Betty’s teeth on edge. 

 

“So, I’ve come to a decision, B,” Veronica started off casually.

 

Betty waited patiently knowing her friend wasn’t really looking for a prompt, but was merely pacing herself to give her big reveal more dramatic flair. 

 

“We need to find you a man,” she concluded with finality. 

 

The absurdity of the statement left Betty clutching her sides from laughing so hard. When she finally managed to regain her composure though, she realized that her friend was completely earnest in her belief. 

 

“V, I appreciate the concern, but I’m good,” Betty said as evenly as she could manage.

 

“That’s the whole point though, B! You’re _good_ when you should be feeling _a-maz-ing_. You’re young, accomplished, smart and hot. Men should be falling over themselves to get into your boudoir, and yet in the _seven months_ you’ve been living in the City, you haven’t even gone out on so much as a date!” Veronica’s voice had gotten more offended the more worked up on Betty’s behalf she got. 

 

“Veronica, you know I’ve been on a date since I moved to the City…” Betty chided gently. 

 

Her friend pinned her with an unimpressed stare. “One date with a co-worker that _you_ didn’t realize _was_ a date until you saw his IG account _does not_ in fact constitute a date,” she added drolly. 

 

Betty gave her a sheepish shrug. “Maybe I’m just not really that interested in dating right now? I mean, I am entitled to be single. That’s a perfectly acceptable life choice since it’s, you know, no longer 1950.”

 

“Ah,” Veronica said knowingly. “Would this lack of interest in dating have anything to do with Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy you were talking about last night?”

 

Betty froze like a deer in headlights as she suddenly mentally reviewed everything she’d told her friend in her drunken state. Even with close to a bottle of champagne in her, Betty was almost 100% positive that she hadn’t breathed a word about her increasingly lusty thoughts about Jughead. Stalling for time, she decided to play the ignorance card. “And who might that be, V?”

 

It was the brunette’s turn to shrug. “You tell me, B. You were muttering something about wanting to climb Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy like a tree, but you didn’t think he’d be interested?” Veronica stared at her intently, but Betty kept mum. She was increasingly more confident she had neither said Jughead’s name, nor dropped enough hints for Veronica to deduce that Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy was actually her new roommate.Realizing that Betty wasn’t going to elaborate any further, Veronica huffed, “Seriously, Betty dear, ifsome guy out there has caught your attention and doesn’t immediately fall at your feet, he’s clearly too dumb for you anyway.” 

 

Betty snickered to herself, imagining what Jug’s face would look like if she told him Veronica said he was too dumb for her. 

 

“Well,” Betty interjected suddenly, “I guess I’ll just have to live vicariously through you, V. I mean, from what _you_ were telling me last night, you’re having more than enough fun with Archie and Reggie for the both of us.” Betty threw a cheeky grin at her friend, hoping her calculated move would pay off. Veronica gave her a shrewd look in return that suggested she was on to Betty’s diversion tactic; however, her eagerness to talk about her infinitely more exciting love life was too great. 

 

By the time Andre got back with their food, Betty had decided she was never going to be able to look her neighbor in the face again. Veronica had waxed poetic about Archie’s thoughtfulness as a lover, how his dexterous fingers always made sure that their trysts were pleasurable for her. She even had a soft spot for how earnest and genuine he was, going so far as to comment that “Archie was the marrying kind.” But, she had doubts too. Their fling was still pretty new—only have been going on for four months or so—and Veronica questioned whether someone like him could really deal with a woman whose past was like hers. “B, his mom came by from her office to bake chocolate chip cookies for him because she needed a break from trial prep. I’ve been in Witness Protection.” Veronica sighed a little sadly. “We just come from completely different worlds…” she added drifting off.

 

“Maybe that’s a good thing?” Betty tried pepping up her friend. “You’re always telling me how I deserve good things in my life, why shouldn’t you deserve _this_ good thing?”

 

V scoffed. “It’s not a matter of whether I believe I deserve Archie. I do. I’ve just realized as I’ve gotten older how important shared experience is for making a relationship work. Take Nick, for example. Absolutely awful relationship for many completely different reasons, but he could understand why I was so afraid when all the papers starting claiming my dad was going to cooperate with the Feds in exchange for a reduced sentenced. He knew the risks those headlines weren’t just putting my dad in, but me and my mom as well. Archie could never understand that part of my life.”

 

Betty nodded sagely. Taking a slightly fortifying breath, she added, “I know I’m going to sound like Polly when I say this…” to which Veronica promptly cut her off.

 

“No, don’t even go there. I’m not listening to some of Polly’s New Age philosophy bullshit about the universe and co-vibrating atoms or souls seeking each other across time and space. _We_ live in the real, B.” 

 

Given her own rejection of Polly’s “the-universe-speaks-through-us-all” brand of crazy, Betty couldn’t really blame Veronica for not wanting toindulge her counter argument: a counter argument she was only going to make as devil’s advocate anyway. 

 

“Ok, so what about Reggie? If Archie is too innocent for you, does his manager make the cut?” Betty asked genuinely curious.

 

Veronica got a dreamy look on her face. “Oh, Reggie…”

 

The blonde eyed her in amusement. 

 

V shook her head briefly to clear it of her sudden daydream before continuing to answer her friend. “He’s hot. And fun. And sexy enough to set my sheets on fire. Not to mention at least a little smarter than Archie, but…”

 

The pause went on for long enough that this time Betty did feel a prompt was necessary. “But…?”

 

A thoughtful look crossed the brunette’s face. “I’m not sure he has substance, Betty.”

 

Betty just looked at her while waiting for her to explain. 

 

“Take Archie, right? I have no doubt that if things got bad between us, he wouldn’t just cut and run. He’s just not built like that. But Reggie? Right now we’re just having some simple, easy fun. And I don’t know if “Fun Reggie” is the only side of him, or if he’d be willing to stick around if something blew up in our faces.” 

 

The sadness in Veronica’s voice lead Betty to pull her friend into a hug, which she limply accepted. The two women stood like that in contemplative silence for a moment before Betty heard V’s muffled voice against her shoulder. “We’re almost 30, B. I mean, I’m not in a hurry to get hitched, but I think I’m starting to move past the point where I’m content to spend my valuable time with a man who’s fun but nothing more. I don’t want to be the “fun” girl anymore. I deserve more.” 

 

Betty just stroked her friend’s hair in silence as she felt the top corner of her shirt get damper and damper. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

There were few things in this world that Jughead loathed. Eating crow because he knew he was wrong was right up there, which was why he made a point of rarely being wrong. He could accept people thinking he was an asshole when he was right because he just told himself that it was their stupidity that made them dislike him, not his general attitude. However, he couldn’t abide people—especially not his best friends—thinking he was an asshole because he’d _actually been_ an asshole. Grabbing his phone, he pulled up Pea’s name in his contact list and tapped out a quick, ‘Gym in 30.’ 

 

He started throwing on his gym clothes before he heard back from his friend. Sweet Pea could be pretty hot-headed at times, but his increasingly evident radio silence was beginning to make Jug worry that he’d burned one bridge too many with the man last night. Finally, twenty minutes after Jughead sent his text, he received Sweet Pea’s standard reply, ‘ 👍🏼 .’ 

 

Sweet Pea had taken just enough time to get back to him that Jug was going to be late if he didn’t jog over there. ‘Asshole’s trying to kill me,’ he thought petulantly as the thick humid air that was already starting to form at 10 a.m. hit him in the face as he walked out the door of his building. His uncharitable thoughts toward his friend’s motives were only confirmed when he arrived at the gym—only a few minutes late—to see the taller man, already taped up, nonchalantly warming up on a speed bag.

“Asshole,” the Jones man muttered under his breath as he passed his friend to throw his bag on the benches standing along the wall. Sweet Pea just gave him a huge shit-eating grin in response. 

 

Jug took his time taping up her hands before taking a few minutes to warm up on a speed bag like his friend, while his friend stayed loose with a jumprope. 

 

When he felt ready, Jughead jerked his head toward the ring, and his friend followed him. 

 

They had barely climbed over the ropes and squared off when Sweet Pea suddenly laid Jughead out with a powerful right cross. As he laid on the canvas, he gingerly checked his jaw. Nothing seemed broken, luckily. Suddenly, Sweet Pea was leaning over him, holding out a hand to help him up. Gripping on to his forearm, Jug pulled himself up, while giving his friend a humbled look as he said “I deserved that.”

 

Sweet Pea just nodded, “Yep.” He waited a beat before he said grinningly, “So, you want me to keep beating the shit out of you, or you wanna grab food?” Jughead was already crawling over the ropes before his friend even finished speaking. “Is that even a question?” he tossed over his shoulder.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Twenty minutes later, the two men were sitting sprawled out in a four-top booth at a diner with the best coffee in the City in Jughead’s opinion. Jug was already working on his third cup of coffee as Sweet Pea tucked into his plate of home fries, ham steak, three eggs over easy, grilled cinnamon bun, cheese grits, and a large glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Pea chewed meditatively for several minutes as he watched his normally close-off friend’s emotions play over his face. 

 

Jughead swallowed the last of his coffee before he started his apology. “I was an asshole, Pea.” His friend just nodded as Jug continued, “You were right when you said I was making everything about me, but you were wrong when you said I don’t want any of those things.” Sweet Pea’s eyebrows raised a little at that, while his friend continued speaking. “I know the way things ended with your girl was shitty. But honestly, I’m a little envious of you, Pea. Even though things suck right now, I know you’re not afraid to put yourself back out there until you _do_ find someone who’s going to realize what an awesome guy you are. But me? I don’t have a good reason like you for not putting myself out there. I’m just a coward, Pea. It’s safer and easier for me to just stay in a fortress of solitude, shrouding myself in sarcasm so that no one ever gets close enough to hurt me.” 

 

Jughead stared plaintively into his miraculously full cup of coffee, while Sweet Pea finished eating. 

 

Eventually, the taller man spoke up. “Jones, you may be a lot of things, but I _know_ a coward isn’t one of them. And for the record, it’s _always_ scary putting yourself out there, that’s why you don’t risk your heart on every woman you meet. You’ll know when you find one that’s worth the risk.”

 

‘What if I already have?’ Jughead thought distantly.


	9. Airplane Mode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty and Jughead help each other out, and Jellybean takes one for the team, kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, as always, thank you to each and every one of you who has taken the time to read this story. It means so much to me!! Also, let me give an extra special thanks to all of you who have gone out of your ways to send me kudos/drop me comments/bookmark this story/reblog this to get the word out. I am so incredibly humbled by your willingness to let me know how much you're enjoying what I'm creating. It really is *such* amazing encouragement!
> 
> Second, the spiciness factor has definitely been upped. ;-) I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!
> 
> Third, this is still un-beta'd so all errors and omissions are my own. 
> 
> Finally, I'm on the Tumblr @sunshinebunnie. Still pretty much clueless as to how it all works, but feel free to reach me there! :-D

It occurred to him that he needed to do a better job of checking his phone. Unfortunately, the thought came to him too late to save him from unintentionally flashing Betty. 

 

The note she’d left for him Friday morning said she wasn’t expecting to be home until _after_ 6 that Sunday. Plenty of time, then, for him to grab a leisurely showerwhen the photo shoot he’d opted to walk home from had finished at 4. Spending the entire afternoon with Cheryl had been exhausting, but he owed Toni an IOU from their floating poker game, and she’d finally called it in. 

 

Toni’s “Cher-bear” was apparently launching a new line of “fantasy” lingerie in the adult entertainment branch of her vast corporate empire, and she’d insisted on doing the promo shots herself. (“House of Blossom _only_ sells products that come Cherry Bombshell-approved, peasant!”) He’d honestly been surprised when his intensely feminist best friend had started dating a woman who counted a sex work venture among her many business lines, but over the years he’d learned that, shock factor aside, Cheryl was an intensely shrewd business woman. The female-centric adult entertainment business her mother had initially founded accounted for nearly a third of Blossom Industries’ annual revenue. Cheryl may not have exactly loved the idea of being a porn queen when she’d taken over as CEO of the family business, but she knew how to keep her portfolio thriving. 

 

There had been so much red and black everywhere. Lacy teddies. Complicated-looking leather bustiers with random peek-a-boo panels. Feathers from more birds than Jug cared to think about. Things with satin laces that looked barely held together. Clothes with quick-release “tear away” segments for those with bodice-ripping fantasies. 

 

Even if Cheryl had been the easiest, most pleasant model to work with, the shoot would’ve been exhausting for him. As Cheryl had previewed several of the outfits—one that had appeared to be nothing but a continuous strip of satin ribbon that was wound around the body so the wearer could be “unwrapped” like a present, had particularly stood out—he found his mind drifting to a certain blonde he knew, his imagination traitorously envisioning her in the scraps of fabric instead. Thankfully, his model’s near constant stream of pointed barbs along with his best friend’s similarly near constant laughter, had helped keep the worst of his desperate libido in check.

 

At least until he got home. Everywhere he looked, he could see Betty’s imprint on their apartment. The way the unruly books on the apartment’s never-ending shelving had slowly become organized. How the couch now had overstuffed green throw pillows that were perfect for leaning against while working from the sofa. All of the clip magnets on the fridge organizing papers into various categories like the running grocery list or Betty’s “random thoughts for later” list. As his eyes had drifted over to their dining room table, he’d suddenly been struck by an image of Betty—not in a barely-there green on green bikini, but rather in a black satin teddy split open down the front with strategically placed lace windows along the bra area and a matching black thong held together at the hips by shimmery satin lacing—looking up at him with an all-consuming wanton need radiating from her eyes. 

 

He’d never gotten into a shower so quickly in his life. The warm water felt like a sensuous caress against his skin as he wrapped his fingers carefully around his engorged cock. He gave himself a tight squeeze for a moment exhaling a tense breath he’d been unwittingly holding as he slowly teased himself with the idea of release. Closing his eyes, he stood completely under the steadily beating water, as he again called to mind the red satin ribbon contraption Cheryl had been wearing, only this time, Betty was the present under the yards and yards of sleek material. His hand gripped harder as he stroked himself to the thought of slowly unspooling the ribbon from his roommate’s body before repurposing it to restrain Betty’s hands against his brass bed frame. He stroked his increasingly heavy cock faster as he imagined the breathy sounds she would make as he worked her needy pussy over with his mouth, pleading with him to let her cum, her hips straining up to press his tongue harder against her clit, thrashing in desperation for more friction. Just as his mind conjured up the chirped “Ah!” of her orgasm, his balls tightened, releasing a jerky stream of hot, sticky cum into his slowing fist. 

 

He leaned his head against the tile, letting the water beat against his shoulders. “Fuck,” he breathed out into his forearm as he waited for his mind to clear. The water continued washing over him with a steady lulling quality. When he finally felt languid enough to control his baser impulses once Betty got home, he stepped out of the shower. 

 

Unfortunately, Jughead getting out of the shower coincided precisely with Betty walking hurriedly _into_ their bathroom. 

 

Time stopped: Betty’s eyes locked on Jughead’s pelvis as his eyes glued to her face, his hands holding a towel spread behind him like a pair of outstretched wings. He watched, transfixed, as a blush bled over his roommate’s face, her eyes slowly blinking as she began gnawing on her lip.Just as he began to feel his own blood rapidly flowing back to the place that had already captured Betty’s attention, his brain finally kicked back in, and he slammed the two ends of the towel closed around himself. 

 

“Ugghhhhh,” Jug garbled out at the same moment as Betty squeaked, “OhmygodI’msosorryJugIdidn’tseeanythingnotthatthereisn’tanythingtoseeohmyGodIcan’tbelieveIjustsaidthatGodjustkillmenowI’mgonnagohideinmyroom” before he saw a blonde blur streak out of the bathroom.

 

*************************************************************************************

Betty had easily drank two gallons of water on the car ride back from Southampton, and was dying by the time Andre dropped her off at Jones Street. She’d texted Jug on the way home to let him know she’d be getting back earlier than expected, but wasn’t surprised when she didn’t hear anything back from him in response. After four months of living together, she’d come to learn that unless a text required an answer or he had some glib response for her, he tended to keep radio silent. 

 

Her bladder had felt lucky when the building’s elevator had already been waiting on the first floor as she’d nearly come running in past the security door. She swung her keys into the flat of her palm as she reached the door, sliding the key to 3BC into the lock with only slightly less fluidity than she anticipated. The key twisted easily and the door quickly opened as Betty urgently pressed her shoulder against it. As she’d cleared the threshold, her overnight bag dropped off her shoulder on to the floor with a soft “oomph.” The front door had barely clicked shut as she’d barreled down the hall toward the bathroom, her hand reaching for the door knob before her ears had a chance to process the metallic scrape of the shower curtain rings dragging across the rod from the other side of the door. 

 

She stepped into the bathroom and promptly pulled up short. There, standing before her, in all his glistening, God-given glory, was Jughead. It took a few moments for her brain to catch up to what her eyes were seeing. Unlike the scrappy scruffiness she’d come to expect from other men her own age, Jug was very neatly manscaped; the trimmed hair surrounding his crotch only serving to further highlightthe exceptional length and girth he appeared to possess. 

 

Betty attributed the sudden heat exploding across her face to the humidity in the bathroom from Jughead’s recent shower, and nothing else. She subconsciously began gnawing on her bottom lipas her mind began to lewdly envision the kinds of noises a man equipped like that might be able to bring out of her. It was only when she heard her roommate’s strangled noise and the snapping sound of terry cloth that she emerged from her temporary fugue state and fully realized just _what_ she’d been staring so intently at. In the space of a breath, she rushed out the fastest apology she could muster before fleeing back to her room, determined to hide in the darkest corner she could find, only reemerging after Jughead had either moved out of their apartment or died. 

 

It would’ve been a fine plan too except for the fact that her bladder reminded her of the urgency of its situation as soon as her racing heart managed to calm down. Hopping back and forth from foot to foot, she waited desperately for what seemed like ages until she finally heard the soft complementary clicks of the bathroom door opening and the door of Jughead’s room closing. Deciding that any hit her pride might take from running into Jug was a necessary evil given her current situation, Betty quickly peeked her head out of the door to ensure the coast was clear before darting across the short distance from her room to the bathroom. 

 

Reemerging a while later feeling infinitely more comfortable physically, even if she still felt morally uncomfortable, she walked back over to her room and laid down on her bed. The silence in her room stretched as she listened for any other sign of life in the apartment, but all she heard were the occasionally echoing breaths that floated over the wall she shared with Jug. Even though it was only 5:30 in the evening, it appeared that he was fast asleep. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

As much as he’d hoped their latest bout of accidental exhibitionism-induced awkwardness would pass as quickly as the first bout had, fate was not on his side it would seem. Like some kind of unspoken agreement, Jughead and Betty managed to avoid having any and all contact with each other for the next four days. They were the most miserable four days of his life.

 

Every morning, he’d wake up, hoping to see some sign from Betty that they would get past this episode, and that their free and easy friendship would return. Yet no sign appeared, and he’d once again find himself making excuses to stay later and later at the office until he’d finally head home long past 9, knowing that Betty would be asleep. Even though it was a return to a routine he’d spent most of his life living without complaint, for the first time ever, he felt genuinely lonely.

 

The breaking point finally came that Friday.

 

Jug had finally gotten fed up with their avoidance dance and was going to pin Betty down to talk. 

 

At least, that was the plan. 

 

Until Gladys called. Normally, Gladys only called him three times a year: his birthday (if she remembered), Christmas, and on the anniversary of the day her divorce from FP was finalized (she apparently believed it was cathartic for _both_ of them to annually commemorate this event for some unknown reason). Any other time she called, she was looking for money, and JB _always_ gave him at least a head’s up text, if not a phone call, first.The fact that she’d called without advance warning from his sister had been the only reason he’d even picked up. He was glad he did. 

 

His mother was not an emotional woman by any means; if anything, she was the Chuck Norris of being emotionally locked down. So he knew before she even started talking that whatever had happened was serious because he could hear her sniffling over the phone. It was damn near a sign of hysteria for Gladys Jones. 

 

“Jug,” she’d said stoically, “there’s been an accident. Jellybean’s been hurt…”

 

He didn’t even need to hear the rest of the phone call. He’d immediately hung up, barged into his editor’s office to let him know he was taking some personal time _effective immediately_ , and then, for good measure, he texted Betty.

 

‘Betts, I won’t be home for a few days. Some family stuff came up back in Toledo, and I need to leave *now*…’ he’d managed to tap out surprisingly quickly while nearly sprinting out of his office to get to where he stashed his motorcycle. 

 

While he was sad it was under these circumstances, it still warmed his heart when not even a minute later, Betty called him.

 

“Oh my gosh, Jug! What happened?” Betty had immediately asked, her utterly genuine concern washing over him through the phone.

 

“I’m not entirely sure,” he’d replied honestly. “My mom called just now though and said my sister’s been in an accident.”

 

Betty’s gasp echoed cleanly over the line.

 

Jughead continued. “It must be serious if Gladys called me since she’s pretty much actively avoided having to speak to me since I was fifteen.”

 

Betty’s even sadder gasp as she learned this little nugget of Jones family lore made a small icy part of his heart begin to thaw. It began to thaw even faster when she’s said after an initial pause, “Oh Juggie…that’s terrible. That must be so hard for you…”

 

His initial instinct was to shrug—his default “I’m used to being shit on” reaction—until he remembered she couldn’t see him. He amended his response, to add in the most indifferent voice he could manage, “It’s fine. It’s been a long time.” 

 

There was a beat of silence between them, where Jughead debated whether he should hang up, when Betty eventually spoke up. “Is there anything I can do to help?”  


Fighting against his ingrained lone wolf mentality, he whispered quietly, “If you believe in a higher power of some kind, pray.”

 

The last thing he heard before he hung up his phone a second time was the softness of Betty’s voice saying, “Of course, Jug.”

 

As he’d made the day’s hard ride from New York City to Toledo, his mind conjured up every possible scenario he could be faced with once he got there. Jellybean could be on life support or in a coma. She could’ve been permanently disfigured in some way. Worst of all, she could’ve died while he was in transit. 

 

In the end, the reality was far less compelling. JB _had_ been in an accident; however, she wasn’t driving, the other car hit the opposite side from where she was sitting, and the worst of the damage she’d received was a cleanly broken arm. “You’re as pig-headed as your father,” was all Gladys had said as he’d glared at her over JB’s hospital bed. “If you hadn’t just charged off half-cocked,” she added somewhat chidingly, “I would’ve had a chance to tell you it wasn’t that serious.” 

 

He gritted his teeth. Despite the fact that his sister was arguably a grown woman at this point, there was still some instinct in him that told him Jelly didn’t need to be exposed to him popping off on their mom. That being said, once he was satisfied that everything with JB actually _was_ ok, he saw no need to linger in Toledo any longer than necessary. Hence how he’d managed to shamble back to his and Betty’s apartment a little over fifty-three hours after telling Betty he was going to Ohio. 

 

After two hard days’ of riding in less than a week, on top of the emotional exhaustion induced by Gladys, Jughead just needed to sleep. Thus, as soon as he’d gotten back to the Jones Street apartment, he’d simply dragged all his stuff into his room where he’d collapsed face down on his mattress, completely dead to the world. 

 

When he finally did rouse almost twelve hours later, he was greeted by the muffled sounds of quiet whimpers. Afraid to make any sound until he’d figured out the source of the distress, Jughead remained as quiet and as still as the dead. As he listened more critically to the whimpers, Jug was surprised to hear a rather plaintive, frustrated tone to them, almost as if… His mind suddenly went blank, as he worked through the only two possible explanations for the noises he was hearing. On the one hand, Betty could be having a very unfulfilling dream, and was simply whimpering in her sleep. On the other, more damning hand though, Betty could actually be awake at the god-forsaken hour of 3 a.m., horny, and trying unsuccessfully to alleviate her need.He held his breath and listened in, every atom of his being focused on figuring out whether Betty was awake. After a few inconclusive minutes, Jug decided to take a calculated risk. 

 

“Betts…?” he whispered toward their shared bedroom wall at which the whimpering immediately stopped. ‘Awake then,’ he found himself thinking rather gleefully, before he added out loud, “You ok, Betts?”

 

There were a few minutes of charged silence before Betty’s uncharacteristically clipped voice whispered back, “Jug! You’re back. I wasn’t expecting you home so soon…” 

 

‘Clearly,’ he thought rakishly, although once again, out loud he merely replied, “Yeah, there wasn’t really a reason for me to stay. Turns out JB’s injuries weren’t nearly as catastrophic as Gladys’ actions led me to believe.” 

 

“Ah,” Betty answered carefully. 

 

The two of them continued laying in silence in their respective bedrooms for several more minutes before Jug couldn’t help himself. He quietly piped up, “It’s a little late for you to be up, isn’t it, Betty?”

 

Betty huffed out a little frustrated sigh that she’d poorly managed to cover up before mentioning, “Too much late night coffee, I guess. I couldn’t sleep.” 

 

He knew he could’ve left it at that. In fact, he knew he _should’ve_ left it at that. But the devil that had been chattering in his ear about her ever since he’d first met her at the Algonquin Hotel refused to let it go. Doubling down, he replied casually, “You know what always works for me when I can’t sleep?” He paused a beat for effect when Betty didn’t immediately answer, finally adding “Beating off.”

 

The sharp inhalation of breath through Betty’s nose was more than enough evidence for him to know that he’d gotten her attention.

 

“Come again?” Betty had whispered breathlessly into the void between them.

 

Jug chuckled at her unintentional pun, before continuing. “You know, Betts. Masturbating,” his voice dropped at least half an octave lower as he’d practically growled, “Nothing quite like a good orgasm to help you fall asleep, wouldn’t you agree?” 

 

There was a beat before Betty’s slightly strangled voice came back with a “mmhmm” in response. 

 

Encouraged by the fact that she didn’t outright shoot him down, a newly emboldened Jug asked, “What are you doing right now, Betty?” 

 

A minute passed. Then, another. Just as Jughead was beginning to believe Betty has reconsidered after all, she whispered back, “Touching myself.”

 

Any lingering doubts he had about what was about to happen _vanished_ as nearly all the blood in his body seemed to centralize in his dick. “How?” he breathed as he quietly shimmied his own pants off in an effort to get more comfortable.

 

He heard her take a significantly deeper breath before her dulcet voice washed over him, “I’m running my finger along my clit…”

 

“Does that feel good?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

 

“Yes,” Betty sighed out.

 

“Is your pussy getting good and wet as you’re playing with yourself?” he continued on wolfishly, gripping the base of his cock firmly in his right hand.

 

Again, Betty merely breathed out a “mmhmm.”

 

“Tell me, Betts. Tell me exactly how you’re playing with yourself,” he found himself commanding her.

 

Without missing a beat, a newer, sultrier voice replied. “I started out just using the pad of my index finger to rub some tight circles against my clit, but as I got wetter, it wasn’t enough. I needed more friction, so I added my middle finger as well and started working my engorged clit harder.”

 

Breaking in to her reverie, Jug found himself interjecting, “Slip your fingers inside yourself, Betts. I want to hear you coating your fingers with your honeyed arousal.”

 

A second later, a partially clipped “Ungh” reached his ears as her wetness became increasingly apparent. 

 

He was stroking himself deliberately when he finally heard Betty say, “Are you touching yourself, Juggie, thinking about me, wrist deep in my throbbing pussy, aching to get off?”

 

Her brashness surprised him. Now it was his turn to groan incoherently as a very detailed vision of her long, delicate, manicured fingers plunging in and out of her glistening waxed pussy suddenly filled his mind. 

 

“Juggie,” Betty whined plaintively. “I need to get off _so badly_. It’s like, I’m _right there_ , but I just can’t get over.” She started whimpering again.

 

He stroked his hand faster over his fully erect cock. “Betts, I want you to get off for me. Focus on rubbing your needy little clit good and hard for me like a good girl. And make sure you’re keeping your legs spread nice and wide for me, forcing the angle of your pussy up.”

 

Betty’s frustrated whimpers were quickly turning into increasingly on edge moans. “Oh Juggie, I’m _so close_. I need you. I need you to let me cum, _please_ ….” 

 

His chest expanded even more as he couldn’t believe how sexily his roommate was begging. Her begging was almost enough to push him over the brink and into his own orgasmic bliss, but Jug wanted to hear Betty cum first before he finally gave himself over to sweet, sweet oblivion. He gritted out a harsh, guttural command: “ _Cum for me, Betts_. Show me what a good girl you are for me. Let me see how good and hard you can cum.” 

 

He’d barely finished speaking when Betty keened his name in a long, high breathy gasp, the sound of which pushed him violently over the edge himself, his hips jerking uncontrollably off the bed for several seconds as the aftershocks continued to roll through him.

 

Just as the tantalizing siren call of sleep was trying to pull him under, Jughead had one last cogent thought: “Betts,” he said tentatively, “we should probably talk…”

 

The minutes stretched on for so long that he was sure he’d fallen asleep before Betty responded, although dimly in the back of his consciousness he was aware of her softly angelic voice replying, “Go to sleep, Juggie.”

 

It was the last thing he remembered before darkness pulled him under into the sleep of the angels.


	10. For All Good Things Should Come In Threes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alice causes havoc, Betty gets a "birds and bees" talk from Veronica, and Jughead seeks Toni's unflappable wisdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First--THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of you for taking the time to read/keep up with this story. I hope I'm continuing to put forth something that's worth your time. Also, an extra extra extra big thank you to all of you who take the additional time to send kudos/leave comments (WHICH I PROMISE I'M GOING TO GET AROUND TO RESPONDING TO!!!)/bookmarking/reblogging on Tumblr to share the love. I am so extremely humbled by you all. I really cannot fully express to each and every one of you how much I appreciate all of your feedback!!
> 
> Second--I'm going to add a trigger warning here. Alice is very much in Betty's head in this chapter (about a 1/3 of the way in). If a belittling, emotionally manipulative parent/authority figure is a trigger for you, PLEASE CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. 
> 
> Third--as usual, this is un-beta'd so all errors and omissions are my own fault. (I swear I proof, but I always seem to catch some after I post. :-/ )
> 
> Lastly, I'm still figuring the Tumblrs, but if you want to come find me, I'm there @sunshinebunnie. :-)

Jughead found himself having the most _vivid_ dream about Betty mutually masturbating with him, when he found himself being slowly pulled from sleep by the smell of freshly cooked bacon and the sound of coffee brewing. His brain was temporarily short-circuited by his rumbling stomach, which explained why it took him a minute to register a dried tackiness on his hand and stomach that he hadn’t had to deal with since he was a teenager. ‘Oh fuck…’ he suddenly thought, a sinking feeling of dread beginning to settle uncomfortably in his stomach as he realized his “dream” wasn’t a dream at all. He glanced at his phone—9:37 stared back at him. ‘Betty’s still home?’ he thought confusedly. Carefully climbing out of bed, he gave himself a mildly disgusted look as his nose processed the very distinctive musky aroma of his spent arousal. ‘Bathroom first then,’ he thought drily.

 

Quietly cracking open the door of his room, he waited until he was sure the blonde in the kitchen was totally distracted before darting over to their shared bathroom. As much as he didn’t want to put off their much-needed talk about the night before, nor did he want to risk missing Betty entirely if she was just running late this morning, his desire to _not_ smell like day-old sex was more pressing. Jughead showered so quickly Betty still appeared to be cooking the same omelet she’d been focused on when he originally entered the bathroom. Judging the coast to be clear once more, he ran back to his room and rapidly threw on some clean clothes.

 

Armored with his beanie, jeans and go-to black-on-grey S t-shirt, he slowly reemerged from his room. As he turned his face to the kitchen, his eyes locked on Betty’s bright green gaze, and he suddenly felt like he was in the middle of every rom-com he had ever mercilessly mocked with Toni. Everything seemed to fade away as he dream walked over to his bewitching blonde roommate. (How he didn’t crack a shin on any of their furniture was a dim mystery in the back of his mind.) 

 

“Hi,” he said with surprising softness as he sat at the dining room table in front of a waiting plate piled with a mound of crispy bacon, a ham and cheese omelet, a couple slices of toast, home fries with fried onions, and a piping hot cup of black coffee. Betty just gave him a shy smile in return before taking a seat halfway down the table from him. He raised an eyebrow at her out-of-character distance, but soon found himself properly distracted by the amazing spread his roommate put out.

 

*************************************************************************************

Betty waited patiently until Jughead was well and truly occupied by his breakfast before she spoke. She wanted at least one last perfect memory of their comfortable domestic bliss before she torpedoed it all. Keeping her eyes trained on the empty coffee mug in front of her, Betty took a steadying breath before she started speaking. “Jug, I want to apologize to you about last night…” A harsh choking noise caused her to look up for a second before she rushed on in the face of his astonishment, “You were trying to be a good friend last night, but you were in a vulnerable place and I took advantage of that by using you.”

 

Jughead tried to interject—“Betty, don’t…”—but she didn’t hear him as she barreled on. “I used to be a cam girl.”

 

The silence in their apartment was oppressive in its absoluteness. As interminable seconds stretched on with neither of them speaking a word, Betty squeezed the bottom of her seat until her knuckles cracked from her effort to keep from doing something more damaging. The young Cooper woman suddenly felt starved for air as she tentatively raised her eyes to the man in front of her, briefly registering the gaping shock written across his face before her eyes began tearing up.

 

“I’m so sorry, Juggie,” she whispered, her voice strangled by her refusal to cry in front of him, before her chair violently clattered to the floor as she knocked it over in her haste to flee their apartment.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Their apartment could’ve suddenly been engulfed in a raging grease fire and he would’ve just suffered a gruesome death for all his ability to budge from the dining room table. Of all the possible ways he _ever_ could’ve imagined their conversation going, what _actually_ transpired wouldn’t have crossed his mind in a million years. In fact, if someone _had told him_ a story featuring how his morning had gone, he’d swear they were lying. Normally quick on the uptake, Jughead found himself unable to process the entire sequence of events going back to the night before that had led him to this moment. He’d caught Betty playing with herself for the second time (not that _she_ knew that it seemed), and decided to take a risk and give her an indication of his attraction to her by “helping” her out with her frustration. She’d seemed to be totally into it last night even if she did dodge him when he wanted to talk about it after they’d mutually finished. Then this morning, it seemed like she’d taken the day off and had chosen to use at least part of her day making him an elaborate breakfast, both of which should’ve been encouraging signs. But, then _she’d apologized for using him_ , which was _far_ from the case as far as he was concerned, before randomly blurting out she’d been a cam girl then bolting on him like she expected him to stone her for having loose morals. 

 

Even after breaking it all down into smaller linear chunks, he couldn’t make sense of it. 

 

Since his editor wasn’t expecting him back until Friday at the earliest, Jughead tried to see if could get a little unbiased perspective on his situation.

 

‘You around?’ he quickly tapped out.

 

‘You buying, Jones?’ Toni responded equally quickly.

 

He sent her a ‘ 👍🏼 ’ followed by ‘Can you come by my place?’

 

Jug watched the blue response dots blink as he waited for her answer; he knew she was probably intrigued by his odd request of meeting him at Jones Street given the traditional lack of food at his apartment. At last, her simple ‘Be there in 20’ popped up. He finally felt himself breathe for the first time since he’d said “Hi” to Betty that morning.

 

By the time Toni actually got to 3BC, it was closer to noon than the 11:15 she’d initially anticipated. “Fucking track fire,” she’d said as soon as he’d opened the door, adding “Remind me again why I insist on using the subway in the summer to begin with?” 

 

It was such a familiar complaint of hers that he didn’t even think as he replied, “Because you’re a creature of habit, and you refuse to pay Uber’s surge pricing.” 

 

Toni just chuckled as she walked past him down the hallway, pulling up short as she caught sight of all the detritus left over from Betty’s breakfast binge cook. 

 

“Um, Jones,” his pink ombre haired friend started, “is there something I should know?”

 

He shrugged. “If you’d gotten here when you said, there might’ve still been some left for you.”

 

Toni gave him an arch look. “You’re still buying me lunch.” 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

The fifteen minute walk to Gonzalez y Gonzalez was mostly spent in an easy contemplative silence occasionally interspersed with particularly astute people-watching comments. It was a nice change from how Jughead’s morning had started. Unfortunately, it didn’t last as Toni had merely been biding her time before finding the right opportunity to poke at him.

 

Swallowing her bite of empanada, Toni watched him closely for a minute before she started in, “Not that I don’t enjoy Mexican food as much as the next person, J, but I know you didn’t drag me away from my latest art design project on a whim.”

 

His intense blue eyes weighed heavily on his friend as he measured his next words carefully. “I kind of met someone.” Jughead had to give his best friend credit, her poker face was unrivaled as absolutely _nothing_ about her expression changed despite the enormity of his statement. He continued on, “We did some stuff when I got back from Toledo, but not everything, and she seemed really into it. But then in the morning everything went sideways and I don’t understand what happened.” 

 

Toni continued to watch him impassively for a minute as he unconsciously not-stress-ate their entire basket of corn tortilla chips. “Did you get her off?” Toni finally asked.

 

Jughead choked on a partially eaten chip. When he was able to clear his throat of the obstruction, he hedged his answer, not really wanting to get into the specifics of precisely what he and Betty had done together. “It’s complicated.”

 

His friend’s look rapidly morphed to one of mild outrage. “If you couldn’t tell if she orgasmed, then your skills need work, my friend. And I’m guessing she didn’t if the best you can come up with is ‘It’s complicated.’” Toni added air quotes at the end for added emphasis. 

 

Jug felt his face grow impossibly hot as he began blushing profusely at his friend’s completely off base comment. “ _My skills_ are fine,” he said behind clenched teeth, “and she _did_ get off.”

 

Toni shrugged unapologetically as she took a sip of her soda. “Jeez, no need to get worked up. I just don’t know too many women who walk out on a guy if the oral sex is good. It seemed like the most obvious explanation.” 

 

“I guess I don’t fit that ‘normal’ mold then. I’m just a weirdo. _Shocker_ ,” he replied sarcastically. 

 

He missed the fleeting look of sadness Toni gave him as he fruitlessly shoved his hand in the empty chip basket looking for something to eat. “You really _like_ this woman,” she finally said, back to a more reserved attitude. The Jones man just nodded, not looking up from the chip basket. 

 

“Jug,” Toni waited until he finally looked back up at her before continuing, “you are a _great_ guy. I know you’ve been through some shit, but don’t let this make you doubt that. If she can’t appreciate all the good things about you, then it’s _her_ loss, not yours.” 

 

It wasn’t really the pep talk he’d expected from Toni, although to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure _what_ advice he was hoping for from his friend—especially if he wasn’t willing to give her the full story of what happened. “We’re not gonna hug, are we?” he said half-jokingly after a beat.

 

“Not unless you want to,” Toni said, before adding sardonically, “or we could both just do that bro thing where we both nod.”

 

He mockingly gave her a head nod as he said, “Right, because both of us are _such_ bros.”

 

“Speak for yourself, Jones!” she said falling into a fit of laughter as their waiter finally returned with a fresh basket of chips.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

When Betty fled from their apartment, she didn’t really have much of a plan beyond ‘I need to escape _now_.’ 

Even though Jug had been right the night before—getting off _had_ helped her sleep, at least for a little while—her body’s natural “early bird” tendency meant she still found herself wide awake by 6:45. She’d tried to use the time productively by going for a run, hoping that the “runner’s high” she was occasionally able to achieve would help quiet her thoughts on what had happened between them. On the one hand, what she and Jughead had done was one of the _hottest_ things she’d ever experienced. The lush sensuality of his voice had done things to her body that few men had ever been able to do by actually touching her, and the dominance he displayed through his words…’Yes, _please_ ’ Betty had thought, mentally fanning herself. But as she’d started to get herself worked up for a possible round 2 after she got back to the apartment and he had a chance to wake up, she felt the crippling self-doubt of Alice Cooper oozing into her mind. ‘He was just trying to be a good friend, Elizabeth,’ her mother’s voice chirped. ‘That beanie wearing boy isn’t looking to defile you. You’ve certainly given him enough opportunities to act if he was actually attracted to you.’ Betty tried shaking her head to dislodge her mother’s poisonous intrusion, but to no available. ‘You took advantage of him. He was in a vulnerable place after everything that happened with his sister, and you _used_ _him_ like he was one of your cam clients. I’m surprised a trollop like you didn’t ask for his credit card information first.’ 

 

Betty suddenly found herself slumped over her knees, holding on to a lamppost, dying to catch her breath as the fictional Alice’s words swirled in an endless loop in her mind. What type of a person _was_ she, Betty found herself thinking. She _had_ taken advantage of him; so what if she was desperately attracted to him, she had used him for her own pleasure just like she had done with all of her old cam clients. He’d even wanted to talk about what they’d done after they finished and she’d cut him off just like she used to shut down her cam stream after she’d gotten what she wanted out of her audience. 

 

When she’d returned home, she’d sent her boss a brief email letting him know she was taking a personal day, before finding something to do with her hands that wouldn’t be destructive. Betty had wound up cooking for an army; luckily for her, that was about how much food Jughead managed to single-handedly eat on a regular basis. 

 

She’d heard him rustling about in his room as she’d gotten to work making the omelets, but couldn’t bring herself to face him quite yet, so she’d kept her attention fastidiously on the cooking-related tasks in front of her. Betty had still been internally debating whether she was going to listen to her heart or her inner Alice when she’d finally locked eyes with him as he’d emerged from his room dressed from his shower. The raw emotional vulnerability she’d seen on his face brought all of her shame over how she’d used him crashing back over her as Alice had continued insidiously whispering that this was all she deserved, this endless loneliness on the ceaseless march toward death. 

 

Betty was in such abject misery after leaving Jughead alone in their apartment for the second time that morning that she didn’t even realize where she was headed, until she suddenly found herself standing in the lobby of The Pembrooke, having walked the four miles from Jones Street to the Upper West Side in a complete daze. Thankfully, Smithers had been on duty downstairs at the desk. After taking one look at ‘Ms. Betty,’ he’d immediately brought her up to Veronica’s penthouse and let her in, telling her that ‘Ms. Veronica’ would be home shortly.

 

That was how her best friend wound up finding her, twenty minutes later, curled up on Veronica’s opulent, overstuffed cream leather couch, desperately clutching a pillow to her chest as she tried to control her panic attack-induced dry heaving. Veronica had rushed over to the couch, the normally intimidating fast paced clicking of her heels muted by the plush carpet, and immediately began stroking Betty’s hair, trying to pull her back from the infinite maw of darkness that was trying to engulf her. It took about another half an hour, but between the comforting lulling sensation of Veronica’s ministrations and her softly whispered “shushes” and “there, there, it’s ok, you’re oks,” Betty was finally able to settle back into herself—the wicked witch of Riverdale finally driven away from her mind, at least for a little while. 

 

V had gotten her friend a glass of water, and then waited patiently until the young blonde woman felt calm enough to talk. “Oh, Ronnie,” Betty had eventually said plaintively, “I’ve made such a mess of things.”

 

Veronica took her cue well. “Somehow I doubt that, B,” she replied encouragingly.

 

“No, it’s true. Something finally happened between me and Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy…” the brunette briefly interrupted her with a squeal before Betty continued, “and it was amazing! But I shouldn’t have done it because I took advantage of him, and now I’ve just gone and ruined _everything_.”

 

“Why exactly do you think you took advantage of him?” Veronica gently probed after letting Betty sniffle quietly to herself for a couple minutes.

 

“Because I was frustrated last night,” Betty said quietly trying not to die of any further embarrassment, “and he offered to help me out…”

 

“What a gentleman,” Veronica said under her breath to which Betty just threw her a look.

 

“Anyway, I took him up on it even though I knew that he’s been dealing with a lot of personal stuff recently, and he probably wasn’t thinking straight when he suggested he could help me with my problem.” 

 

“Uh huh,” Veronica said, trying not to sound amused at her best friend’s complete lack of understanding when it came to men. Before V had a chance to straighten her friend out, she heard the blonde whisper sadly, “I told him about being a cam girl…”

 

That caught the brunette off guard. Suddenly, Veronica found herself in an unexpected quandary: did she have the “birds and bees” talk first, or address the cam girl issue first? Ultimately, she decided to work backwards through Betty’s problems.

 

“How did the cam stuff come up?” she asked gently.

 

Betty buried her face in her shoulder a little as she muttered, “I just sort of blurted it out before I ran out on him this morning.”

 

“Ah,” V said, anticipating that Betty would add to the thought on her own.

 

“I let Alice get in my head,” Betty whispered, causing Veronica to grind her teeth. “I woke up before him this morning, and I was thinking about how wonderful last night was, but then I started hearing my mother’s voice telling me what a terrible person I was, just using him for sex even though I knew that he was really vulnerable the other night. And then that got me thinking of how I used the men I used to cam for and how that had been all about my wants and needs and how I didn’t really care if they enjoyed my cam stream so long as I got paid, and then I just spewed it out to him that I’d been a cam girl…” Betty’s voice drifted off. 

 

Veronica fought to keep her own Alice-induced rage in check as she figured out the best way to allay Betty’s most likely misguided fears. “B,” she said softly, continuing to stroke her friend’s hair, “I want to let you in on a little secret about men.” She paused for effect. “They’re not like women. They don’t usually sex up women they’re not attracted to simply because they’re “trying to be nice.” That’s just not how they’re wired or raised.”

 

Betty weakly tried to object, “But V, you don’t understand…” before Veronica promptly cut off her objection.

 

“Who initiated this booty call of yours last night, Betty?” 

 

“It wasn’t really a booty call,” Betty grumbled.

 

“Fine,” Veronica huffed, “who was the one who acted on the sexual tension between you first?”

 

Betty’s knee-jerk reaction was to say her because Jughead had unwittingly interrupted her while she’d been trying unsuccessfully to get herself off while she thought he was still out of town. However, the more she actually thought about it, _he_ had been the one who had actually mentioned the idea of masturbating, and _he_ had been the one who asked her what she’d been doing and then encouraged her to describe for him exactly how she’d been playing with herself. The rapidly spinning wheels in her head finally started crawling to a stop.

 

“Actually,” Betty said sounding surprised, “now that I think about it, he did.”

 

“Mmmm,” Veronica simply replied a little smugly. “And the cam thing? How’d he react to that?” she’d pushed a little.

 

“A little surprised, I guess?” Betty said starting to doubt her earlier belief that the disclosure had disgusted him. “I didn’t exactly give him a chance to say anything about it before I ran over here,” she added lamely.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly fault him for being surprised. You hardly come across as your typical cam girl,” Veronica reasoned. Betty had to agree with her there. “Besides,” V added as she grinned at her best friend, “I bet if you did talk to him about it, he’d probably think it was _hot_.” 

 

Betty just groaned a little from embarrassment of a different sort. “Ronnie, I’ve made such a mess of this. What I am I gonna do?”

 

Veronica grinned mischievously. “I’ve got an idea…”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Their waiter had just dropped off their check when Jughead heard his phone go off in his pocket. Although he normally hated to check his text messages while he was eating with other people—considering it to be the height of rudeness toward whoever he was with—since he had to pull his wallet out of the same pocket anyway, he figured bending his rules just this once would be fine. As he read the message, he nearly dropped his phone into his half-drunk glass of ice water. Toni immediately noticed the shocked look on his face and promptly asked, “What is it, Jones? Is everything ok?”

 

“She just texted me, but I’m not sure she meant to,” he said in a cautious daze.

 

Toni just gave him a confused look, her face scrunching up as her eyebrows quirked up.

 

Jughead leaned a little closer to his friend as he went to read her the message, refusing to just hand her his phone because he wasn’t prepared for her to realize his mystery woman was actually his roommate. “V,” he started reading, “no question. What I did last night with Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy was the hottest sex I’ve ever had in my life.” 

 

His best friend gave him an impressed look before asking, “So, do you know who this ‘V’ is?”

 

“She’s her best friend,” he said quickly. “She must’ve sent this to me by mistake. It’s happened before when she’s replying to texts from her Apple Watch…”

 

“Well, I’d say that if she’s telling _her best friend_ that you’re ‘Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy’ and giving her the hottest sex of her life, then chances are good that whatever caused her to run off this morning was a fluke,” Toni said reasonably.

 

Jughead swallowed thickly. He’d never found himself quite in a situation like this. On the one hand, he didn’t want to embarrass Betty by pointing out to her that she’d accidentally sent him a text that clearly wasn’t intended for him. But on the other hand, he wanted to crow a little bit about her “hottest sex” of her life comment. He threw a torn look at Toni hoping some of her steadying wisdom would be useful here, but his friend just shrugged. “That’s all you, Jug,” she said with a slight smile to her voice.

 

He silently debated how, if at all, he should respond while they waited for the waiter to finally come back with his credit card, and he felt his phone burning a hole through the pocket of his jeans as he walked Toni over to the entrance of the Broadway and Lafayette Street subway station so she could return to work. Finally, the tension became too much for him. Whipping the phone out of his pocket, he opened Betty’s latest text, and quickly tapped out, ‘Hottest sex of your life, huh?  😏 ’

 

He wasn’t even sure she would respond given that she clearly hadn’t meant to send the text to him to begin with, so he wasn’t entirely surprised to get her reply a few minutes later. ‘ 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭 .’ Betty _did_ , however, manage to surprise him when she shortly thereafter followed up with, ‘Unless you can think of a way to make it even hotter…. 😉😉😉😉😉😉 ’ Her unexpected cheekiness caught him so off guard his phone slipped out of his hand and clattered on to the sidewalk. Thankfully, the $120 military-grade phone case he’d invested in actually did its job and kept his phone from getting damaged. 

 

Gripping his phone tighter in his hand, he purposefully typed out, ‘Meet me at home now if you want to find out.’

 

A minute went by and then another before he finally saw the blue dots pop up indicating she was responding. Eventually the dots turned into a blue text bubble: ‘I’m already getting wetter at the thought…’

 

Jughead started to run.


	11. Good Things Come To Those Who Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty and Jughead come to an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First--THANK YOU SO MUCH to each and everyone of you has taken the time to go on this journey with me. I hope I can continue making it worth your while. Also, let me send an extra extra **EXTRA** special thank you to each and everyone one of you who had taken the additional time to leave a kudos/write up a comment/bookmark/or reblog this story to spread the love. I am humbled by your willing to engage so much with my work. Thank you thank you thank you.
> 
> Second--this is the true start of spicy times ahead for Betty and Jughead. I hope you enjoy! 😉😉😉😉
> 
> Third--as usual, this work is un-beta'd so any errors or omissions are my own.
> 
> Last--if you want to come find me on Tumblr, you can reach me @sunshinebunnie. Still figuring it all out, but it's another thing I do? 😊

If Jughead’s life was a movie, he’d have made it home in under ten minutes as the streets of Manhattan would have suddenly, miraculously been void of all humanity at the precise moment he took off running for home. As it was though, he was struggling to keep his journey under twenty minutes as he fought to weave between the masses of people first on Mercer Street, then by Washington Square Park (he nearly took down some parent wearing a University of Wisconsin t-shirt while trying to get around an NYU campus tour), and finally on 6th Avenue. By the time he could see the door of his building, he was so over people getting in his way that he came _this close_ to running over Archie without realizing it. 

 

“Hey! Watch where you’re…”Jughead started to yell until he finally recognized his friend’s earnest-looking face. 

 

“Jug? Everything ok?” Archie said completely confounded by his neighbor’s uncharacteristic outburst.

 

“Yeah, man. Yeah, sorry,” the dark-haired man replied distractedly, glancing furtively toward their building’s security door.

 

Jug dimly realized that he was nodding along with whatever the ginger-headed man in front of him was saying, until his brain finally picked up on his friend’s voice saying, “You and Betty today.”

 

“Sorry, Arch. What?” he’d suddenly interjected giving his friend laser-precision focus.

 

Anyone else probably would’ve been annoyed at best, and down right pissed off at worst by Jughead’s whiplash behavior; however, Archie just seemed to take it all in stride.

 

“I was saying,” he repeated, “that you and Betty both seem really distracted today.”

 

“Oh,” Jughead said a little dumbly, “well, I think she had a lot on her mind this morning. She kind of rushed out of the house in hurry.”

 

It was Archie’s turn to look dumbly at his friend. “I don’t know anything about that,” he replied sincerely, “But when I ran into her twenty-five minutes ago, she was muttering something about having left the stove on in your apartment. She really seemed to be in a rush to make sure she didn’t accidentally burn the building down.”

 

Jughead felt his heart simultaneously stop and start beating at a million beats a second as the gears in his head started clicking into place. Archie saw Betty in their building within the last half an hour. Which meant Betty had already _been_ at home when he’d gotten her text…which meant she was already upstairs, waiting for him at that very moment. 

 

“Well, it’s a good thing she remembered then,” Jughead replied, not sure of what else to say without giving Archie a clue that he was in a hurry to get home to see Betty.

 

Just as Jughead was beginning to fear that Archie was never going to stop continuing their conversation, his friend’s phone went off with a text message. Archie briefly got a panicked look on his face. “Sorry, Jug! I gotta run. That’s probably Ronnie letting me know how late I’m keeping her right now.”

 

Jug just waved him off with a “no worries” gesture as it was the ginger’s turn to jog off down the street. 

 

Once Archie was out of sight, Jughead sauntered back toward their building, much of his earlier urgency having dissipated once he knew that Betty was already home, was already waiting for him. He took advantage of his newly acquired sense of zen to center his fractured thoughts as he rode up in the elevator toward the third floor and the increasing inevitability that he and Betty were about to embark on something neither one of them could come back from easily. 

 

As he slipped inside their apartment, he was suddenly at a loss as to how to proceed. Did he announce that he was home like some 1950s husband? Did he go searching the apartment for her like some bloodhound?Just as he was starting to feel himself freeze up from decision paralysis, Betty’s soft voice floated over him like a security blanket, “Juggie?”

 

He walked toward her voice as if it were a beckoning plinth of light. 

 

“Jug?” Betty said again as she caught sight of him standing framed in the cut between the kitchen and the privacy hall. 

 

The young Jones man just swallowed. There were few images that were indelibly etched in his mind, the majority of which weren’t good—his parents fighting when he was a kid, the first street fight he got into in high school, more scenes of war and poverty than anyone really needed to see in one lifetime, and now this: Betty, standing in the middle of their living room, her blonde hair hanging in loose waves around her shoulders, wearing _his_ green-on-green S t-shirt and a pair of her blue ‘laundry day’ Delka Mu shorts looking at him with the most becoming combination of shy insecurity and roiling lust. 

 

In his mind, he was smooth, taking his time to slow walk the short distance between them. In reality, however, he’d covered the brief distance in about four purposeful strides, stopping only when he was inches away from her. His brain was going into overload cataloguing everything about this moment for posterity. The way her impossibly dark green eyes seemed to be all pupil as they darted all over his face like pinballs. How her breathing hitched as he’d lightly run his fingers up the tops of her biceps before his hands reached to cup her face. How maddeningly red and plump her lips were from her teeth gnawing on them as she’d waited for him. The tantalizing smell of her arousal combining with the smell of vanilla sugar cookies that perpetually seemed to surround her.

 

Just as Betty was about to whisper his name against his lips, his mouth sealed over hers, stealing the sound of her exhaled breath. The frenetic thoughts that had been plaguing him since she’d run away from him that morning vanished as he let himself fall deeper into their kiss, the softness of her lips belying the ardor of her tongue as it toyed with his, each of them languidly exploring the other’s mouth. He pulled back momentarily with a sigh, gently resting his forehead against hers. After a moment, he sought her lips again, but not before breathing against her bee-stung lips, “You’re wearing my shirt,” with a fierce, coiled desire that both surprised him and a little terrified him with its intensity. 

 

Betty mewled softly as his lips asserted ownership over their renewed kiss, his hands slowly edging their way from cupping her face to winding their way into her hair, tentatively tugging on it as he held their faces closer. Her tiny whine of need emboldened him as he gripped her hair even tighter with his greedy fingers, tugging on it again more forcefully. Jughead felt Betty’s purr of desire reverberate against his lips just as she briefly pulled back from their kiss.

 

“I wondered about that,” Betty whispered to herself.

 

Jughead chuckled lowly in response before adding, “You wondered about what it would be like to kiss me?”

 

“Mmmhmm,” she said, “but more about whether you were into hair pulling…” her voice drifting off in her blissed out haze.

 

Jughead growled. “Oh really? Since when?”

 

Betty leaned back in to kiss him, gently nipping at his lips as she murmured, “Since the night of Archie’s show at the Wyrm.”

 

Just like that, all of Jughead’s senses simultaneously took leave of his body as his mind shutdown from his roommate’s confession that she’d thought about what he might be like as a lover since the first day they lived together. Suddenly, his mind brought him back to the first time he’d stumbled across Betty pleasuring herself. She hadn’t said his name then, but had she been thinking of him nonetheless? 

 

He pulled his lips back from her, teasing her with his almost-within-reach presence, as he whispered darkly, “Did you ever touch yourself while you thought about me? About all the depraved things I might do to you?” 

 

Her lust-blown pupils held his gaze unblinkingly as one long protracted second stretched into another before she shuddered out “yes.” 

 

Before he had a chance to fully process what he was doing, Jughead lifted Betty up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her over to their dining room table. She may not have realized he was watching her the first time she did this, but she was _damn_ _sure_ going to be aware that he was watching her now. As they reached the edge of the table, he set her down with surprising gentleness on the table’s broad surface before reaching for the waistband of her shorts. His fingers hesitated for a moment, hovering over the hint of softness he could feel at the dip of her waist, not wanting to assume _this_ was what she’d intended to happen when she’d agreed to meet him back at their apartment. “Can I take these off?” he asked quietly, half fearful that the reality of their situation was suddenly going to occur to Betty and she was going to bolt on him again. It would certainly be his Jones luck. Instead, Betty continued managing to dismantle his mind as she replied with a breathy cheekiness he wasn’t expecting, “Won’t do much good for either of us if you don’t.” With that, he yanked her shorts off with one surprisingly fluid move and tossed them generally in the direction of their couch. 

 

As Betty went to grab for the hem of his shirt she was wearing, his quietly snarled “Leave it” caused her to instantly stop what she was doing. He leaned over and muttered into her ear, “I want to see you wearing it while you show me the way you played with yourself when you thought of the naughty things you wanted me to do to you.” Jughead was so close to Betty as he whispered his perverse nothings in her ear that he felt the shudder of baited anticipation that ran through her in response to his words. 

 

Stepping away from her, he unwrapped her supple legs from his hips, pushing them open wider as Betty willingly displayed herself to his hungry, appreciative gaze. As he’d suspected since their first ‘laundry night,’ she’d been commando under her shorts, her Brazilian wax job leaving him with a completely unobstructed view of the effects of her desire for him. Pulling over one of the comfier dining room chairs, he sat down in front of her, an utterly rapt audience. 

 

Betty partially leaned back against the table on one forearm, as the fingers of her other hand lazily teased her nipple through his shirt. “Is this what you want, Juggie?” she moaned wantonly, completely abandoning herself to every filthy desire she’d been harboring about the man in front of her ever since she met him. 

 

“I want _everything_ , Betts,” he replied fiercely, “including for you to show me what _you_ want.”

 

He licked his lips as he noticed her pussy glistening even more as he spoke.

 

“Did you imagine me whispering all types of depravity into your ear, Betty?”

 

Jughead watched as Betty pinched her nipple hard as she just nodded her head. 

 

“What types of things? What sort of filthy thoughts did you think I was harboring about you?” he continued.

 

Betty’s hand slowly dragged itself down from where it was caressing her breast, over the flat cotton-covered plane of her stomach, to the highly sensitive skin of her exposed pelvis. Her blood red nails creeped along the soft skin between her thigh and the denuded outer edge of her vagina causing her breath to hitch as she mercilessly teased herself with her refusal to sink her fingers into her eager, throbbing pussy. 

 

Just as he felt his chest begin to rumble with frustration, he glanced at Betty’s face only to see her watching him under hooded eyes, daring him to take over and stop her unceasing torment. He gave her an evil look. If she wanted to play the ‘slow burn’ game with him, he’d be more than happy to teach her a thing or two about ‘slow burn.’ 

 

Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees propping his face right at the level of Betty’s exposed pussy. Giving her a cunning smile, he sighed wistfully, the punctuated gust of air from his mouth perfectly aligning with her slowly dripping nethers. Betty squeaked at the sensation before quickly bringing her index to rub along her clit.

 

“Mmmmm,” she moaned, fully surrendering herself to the pursuit of pleasure her body so desperately craved.Slowly, she began rubbing small circles around her clit, her eyes closed as she began whimpering, “Just like that Juggie. Mmmmm…God, I _love_ the way you touch me…” His eyes were transfixed on the actions of his blonde goddess. 

 

“How do I touch you, Betts?” he breathed with a hint of possessiveness infiltrating his thoughts.

 

“Ah!” she squeaked again as she rubbed herself a little more fiercely. “Like you’re the only man who can make me cum. Like my body belongs to you to do with as you please,” she said with a pleading whine. 

 

“Am I the only man to make you _cum_ , Betts? Am I the only man who’s truly managed to set your body on fire with a desire so intense you’re afraid you’re going to spontaneously combust at any moment?” he egged her on.

 

“Oh God, yes, Juggie!” she keened. 

 

He drove on, emboldened by the sheer overwhelming force of her need. “Is that what you want, Betty? For me to just force to you cum over and over _and over_ again until you can’t stand it? Making you come with my fingers, _and my tongue_ , and my cock? Fucking you until you’re so satiated that you’re nothing but a quivering pile of satisfied need?” 

 

Betty bit her lip so hard at his depraved words that he saw a slight bloom of blood appear. “Oh Juggie…” she breathed faster as her finger worked her clit with a fever pace. 

 

Wanting to slow her down, to remind her that there was no need for them to rush, he said firmly, “Slip your fingers inside yourself, Betts. I want you to show me how good and wet you are right now.” 

 

She let out a frustrated whinge as she dragged her finger unwillingly from the impending crushing wave of pleasure it was about to give her in order to comply with his request. Betty let out a garbled noise as her finger slid easily along the soaking walls of her aroused pussy. As she went to remove her fingerand return to her former ministrations against her clit, she heard Jughead tut disapprovingly. “I said _fingers_ , Betty. I think we both know my cock is going to fill you tighter than just _one_ of your delicate little fingers.”

 

Betty let out another little high-pitched whine as her mind drifted to how deliciously stuffed and stretched her pussy was going to feel when he finally _did_ slip his cock inside her. “ _Juggie_ ,”she wailed, the knife’s edge of her frustrated orgasm taunting her, “ _please_. I _need_ to cum for you. Let me show you how good I can cum for you…”

 

“ _After_ ,” he said, brooking no further discussion. 

 

With the sound of his immutable edict ringing in her ears, she slowly replaced her index finger inside her soaking wet channel before carefully slipping her middle finger in along side it. She hissed at the feeling of being stretched for his hungry scrutiny as he gently prodded, “Ring finger too, Betts. I know you can take it.” Biting her lip, her breath hitched as she squeezed the third digit inside herself. She’d never made herself feel so deliciously full before. “ _Good girl_ ,” Jughead had said proudly making Betty’s heart swell with pride. 

 

She stayed like that for a minute before Jughead removed her hand without warning and deliberately sucked each of her fingers in his mouth one by one swirling his dexterous tongue over every delicious inch of each digit. “Juggie?” Betty questioned hopefully. He smiled wolfishly. 

 

“I just couldn’t help myself,” he said without any hint of apology. “Being this close to you, smelling the temptation of your tangy essence, seeing you stretched so full for me, I just had to taste you.” His voice dropped even lower as he added, “ _I have to taste you, Betty_.” 

 

The next thing she knew, the blonde woman felt her roommate’s warm hands slide under her spread thighs pulling her pussy closer to his mouth as he leaned forward the last few inches until he could latch his mouth on her smooth lower lips. Her hips abruptly popped up as she felt the firm deliberate swipe of his tongue running over her clit. “ _Oh, Juggie_ ,” she moaned with satisfaction, “whatever you’re doing right now, _keep doing it_.” He grinned. Like he’d told Toni, his skills were _fine_. 

 

He worked her clit over with an agonizingly slow deliberateness, never quite giving her enough friction to push her over the edge into orgasmic bliss. It was maddening. Finally, Betty’s patience with his teasing gave out. She dropped the hand she’d been biting in her exquisite agony into the silky black ink of his hair, grazing her nails along his scalp as she gripped his hair firmly in her hand, driving his tongue harder against her clit as she ground herself against his mouth. His answering growl reverberated through her pussy adding to her growing sensory overload until her breath hitched one last time, and she fell head first into a convulsive orgasm crying “ _Oh Jugheaddddddddddddd!_ ” as her pussy fluttered uncontrollably. The man’s whose name she’d invoked as both a curse and a prayer continued to lick her as she limply laid on the dining room table continuing to twitch until he’d brought her to a second, calmer orgasm. It wasn’t until Betty forcibly pushed his mouth away from her over-sensitized pussy and rolled away from him, closing her legs, that he finally stopped his torturous attentions. 

 

“Oh. My. God.” Betty said punctuating each word with a heavy exhale of breath. She leaned up from the table pinning Jughead with a ravenous look as he stared back at her, smugly licking the glaze of her arousal off his lips. The lecherous look the Cooper woman gave him was the only warning the young Jones man had before she’d launched herself off the table in an effort to get him undressed. 

 

“Betty,” he tried vainly to get her attention.

 

“We are _never_ leaving this apartment again,” Betty growled into his neck as she straddled his lap, her hands struggling to get his jeans open.

 

“Betty…” he tried again, groaning her name as Betty finally managed to pop open the top button on his jeans.

 

“Do you hear me, Juggie? _Never_ ,” Betty said between increasingly hard bites to his neck, egged on by Jughead’s silent encouragement of stretching his neck to give her greater access to his warm olive skin.

 

“ _Betty_ ,” he finally snarled, getting her attention, “I plan to fuck you on every surface in this apartment, but at least for _this_ time,” his voice took on an infinitely softer tone, “I want to be able to remember how you look splayed out on my bed.” Betty pulled back from her efforts to mark Jughead as her own, cupping his face gently in her hands as she rubbed her nose along his while she whispered softly against his lips, “Take me to bed then.”

 

In a show of strength that belied his rangy frame, he stood up from the chair in one fluid motion keeping Betty securely fastened to his hips with his iron-like grip under her thighs. He walked them carefully across the apartment, only bumping them into furniture a handful of times, as Betty had distracted him with her languid, all-consuming kisses and her occasional tinkling light-hearted laughs at his understandable clumsiness. He was thankful that he’d left the door to his room slightly ajar as he didn’t entirely trust his ability to hold her up and negotiate the twist knob to his room without possibly dropping her. Instead, he was able to forcibly toe their way into his room with minimal effort allowing their forward momentum to help carry them over to his bed without incident. ‘Thank God I finally got around to getting all the books off my floor,’ he thought silently. 

 

When they finally reached his bed, Jughead carefully dropped Betty down on to the edge of his mattress, stepping back for a second to capture the image in his mind: his amazingly sexy roommate looking up at him with unchecked lust while wearing his favorite t-shirt and nothing else, her mouth ravaged by his kisses and her body _still_ eager for his touch. “I’m going to remember this moment for the rest of my life,” he half whispered to himself, almost as if saying it out loud would make it true. Betty just gave him a demure smile as she ducked her head at his words, reflexively biting her lip in partial embarrassment at his compliment. “Juggie…” she started saying in an effort to deflect his attention, but he cut her off already fearing where her thoughts were potentially taking her. “Betty,” he paused making sure he had her undivided attention before he continued, “I know it’s going to take me a while, but I’m eventually going to convince you that I mean it when I say you are _everything_ I’ve ever wanted in a woman, and if I’d known you actually existed in real life before four months ago, I would’ve found you sooner.” 

 

Betty blushed a deeper crimson as she felt both her pussy and her heart clench at his words, desperately wanting to believe them without reservation. Until she did though, she would freely share her body with him for as long as he wanted. As she tried to stop her mind from cooling her ardor for the man in front of her any further by removing his t-shirt and laying herself completely bare for him, she knew that for the first time in a long time, she was genuinely optimistic about her chances of banishing Alice Cooper from her mind for good. 

 

She felt his eyes caressing her body just as surely as if they’d been his fingers, and the slow simmer of her arousal immediately returned to its former roiling boil. Ghosting her fingers over her newly exposed breasts, she absentmindedly played with her dusky rose colored nipples until the puckered peaks on both breasts were taut and straining for stimulation. Betty didn’t even realize what she was doing until Jughead’s husky voice laved over her, asking “Do you like having your nipples played with, Betts?” 

 

Without a second thought, she sighed “Yes.” 

 

“Show me,” he said, his request temporarily distracting her from the sound of his boots being kicked off and his zipper being lowered. 

 

Closing her eyes, she licked the tips of her thumb and index fingers before using the dampened digits to pinch and pull on her nipples before giving each of them a sharp twist. She was just about to give her aching right nipple another twist when she unexpectedly felt the warm dampness of Jughead’s mouth consuming her breast, his tongue sweeping over her areola, before a second later, the sharp sting of his teeth against her sensitized peak caused a fresh rush of arousal to coat her pussy. Opening her eyes, she purred at the sight before her.

 

While Betty had been distracted, Jughead had gotten completely undressed and was now hovering over her body on his hands and knees, his teeth clamping down on her nipple with increasing pressure. She arched her back, bringing her body closer to his as she gripped on to his shoulders. As soon as her hands came in contact with his skin, she knew she needed more. 

 

Jughead hissed, popping his head up from Betty’s chest to briefly scowl at her as he felt the sharp sting of her nails raking down his back. Betty unapologetically quirked an eyebrow at him in challenge. “ _Harder_ ,” he growled. 

 

She gave him an evil look. “You sure?” she challenged.

 

He returned her look with an even more heated one. “I said what I meant.” 

 

Betty dug her nails into his skin just this side of drawing blood before scouring the length of his back again. Jughead dropped his head to her chest as he let out a ragged breath. “You have no idea how hard you’re making me right now,” he exhaled. 

 

Matching the need in his voice, Betty pulled his head down to her lips as she said softly repeated his earlier words back into his ear: “ _Show me_.” 

 

In the space of a heartbeat, Jughead reached over to his bedside table and grabbed a condom out of a wooden knickknack box he’d picked up on an assignment in Algeria. Before he had a chance to open the foil wrapper, Betty had deftly taken it out of his hands and said, “Here, let me.” She quickly ripped the packet open, carefully taking out the latex sheath inside and rolling it over the velvety steel of his cock. 

 

His hand came up to wrap around the one of hers that was still holding on to the base of his cock, deliberately lining him up with her entrance. “Last chance to back out,” Betty said with a glib wink. Jughead gave her a sardonic smirk as he answered, “Not a chance,” before sliding inside her in one long continuous movement. 

 

Betty had never been with anyone with quite the same combination of girth and length as Jughead. He had been right, he was stretching and filling her in the most fulfilling ways—ways that were causing her body to respond in kind by clenching against him in a pulsating, undulating rhythm, and they hadn’t even started moving. After a few moments of just taking in the feeling of their intimate connection, Jug finally started slowly snapping his hips against hers in a staccato rhythm as he began learning what depths and angles seemed to bring Betty the most pleasure. When Betty’s breath began to have a consistent hitch to it, he knew he’d found what he was looking for. Jug continued to drag his cock in and out of Betty’s pussywith an oval motion designed to scrape the head of his cock over her G-spot both as he rocked out of her and as he pushed back inside. 

 

Betty began whimpering uncontrollably as Jughead’s thrusts became more and more urgent. Jughead stilled his movements for a second as he locked eyes with the quivering blonde beneath him, “ _Mine_ ,” he said leaving no room for counterargument. As soon as Betty’s mind processed the young Jones man’s simple statement, her body shattered into a thousand pieces as she loudly keened his name once again. The dark haired man continued rocking his hips against Betty’s for several more minutes as her pussy squeezed him with an ardent vise grip until her body forced him into following her into oblivion. 

 

He grunted incoherently for several minutes after collapsing heavily on top of his roommate’s soft, inviting body, while one of Betty’s hands ran soothingly over his back and the other rhythmically stroked his hair as his head laid against her chest. Eventually, he began to feel himself soften inside her, so he reluctantly dragged his body away from hers to properly get rid of the used condom.As he turned back to his bed, he smiled at the image in front of him—Betty looking thoroughly sex-tousled as she gazed up at him with a grin of smug satisfaction, her arm already reaching across the bed to draw him back to her. Jughead slid back under his sheets and pulled Betty into his embrace, keeping his arms securely wrapped around her. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he whispered into Betty’s hair, “Promise me you’ll still be here when I wake up,” but all he heard in return were Betty’s quiet snores.


	12. Will You Feel Different Now That You Know Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alice unleashes some particularly nasty malice, Betty has a meltdown, and Jughead realizes he has some common ground with Veronica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First--THANK YOU ALL for your patience while I worked on this chapter. I hate putting these poor babies through bad stuff, and I think it shows in the delays with my chapter updates. 🙁That being said, thank you so much for continuing to follow me along on this journey. I really hope you continue to enjoy it! With that, let me add an EXTRA BIG THANK YOU to every one of you who takes the time to leave a comment/drop a kudos/bookmark/or reblog this story to get the word out. The fact that you not only take the time to read this story, but then go above and beyond to share your enjoyment of it with me and others means more than I can say. I am truly humbled.
> 
> Second--this chapter comes with some necessary TRIGGER WARNINGS. As I've mentioned several times before, the Alice in this story is a vicious, abusive woman. In this chapter, we actually get introduced to Alice and not just the voice of Alice in Betty's head. If this type of emotionally and psychologically abusive authority figure is a trigger for you, PLEASE CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. Second, there are also mentions of canon-compliant self-harm in this chapter (not a lot, but it's there). If Betty's issues with self-harm are a trigger for you, PLEASE CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. Third, there is a brief reference to Betty's *actual* biological brother Charles being killed by a drunk driver. If this is a trigger for you, PLEASE CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. Fourth, there is a lengthy discussion of Chic using Betty's cam girl work for the purposes of sexual exploitation, including threatening to expose Betty's personal information online if she refuses to comply. If this type of sexual abuse/exploitation is a trigger for you, PLEASE CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. Finally, when Jughead goes searching for Betty while she's having her panic attack, the description may sound similar for anyone who's had to legitimately be concerned with someone attempting suicide or being at risk of overdose. If this may be a trigger for you, PLEASE CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. 
> 
> Third, as per usual, this is un-beta'd so all errata are my own.
> 
> Lastly, if you want to see how awful I am at posting GIFs on Tumblr (no, really, it's pretty embarrassing), come find me @sunshinebunnie. 😊😊😊

He woke up to a cold bed. Again. ‘Shit,’ he thought sourly, running his hands through his unruly hair. After months of building sexual tension, he’d finally cracked and admitted to his roommate how attracted he was to her. Betty had responded to his advances even more enthusiastically than he ever could’ve dreamed. And yet…She’d run out on him. 

 

Again.

 

Jughead swung his legs over the side of his bed, his top sheet tangling around his hips as he twisted to sit upright. He padded over to his bureau and grabbed a fresh pair of green and black plaid boxers, debating whether it was too early for a cigarette.

 

*************************************************************************************

Betty heard Jughead rustling around their apartment from where she was hiding in their bathtub. She could only imagine what he must be thinking. Crawling away from him that morning had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. If it hadn’t been for the uniqueness of the circumstances, she would’ve happily slept in until either he woke up, or more promisingly, _she_ woke him up.

 

She had waited until _the last_ possible moment to let her mother, Alice, know that not only had she _gotten_ the junior editor position she’d applied for at Conde Nast, but she’d accepted it too. As far as Betty was concerned, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Her position was part of a pilot program spearheaded by Senior Management whereby she would be working as an “at large” editor: meaning she’d be working with writers and reporters from _every_ publication within Conde Nast’s portfolio. Betty had been excited not only about the unique networking opportunities, but also for the chance to learn from _so_ many writers—all of whom had become very successful while tailoring their work to completely different audiences. 

 

Despite the incontrovertible evidence that the position was a terrific career move for her, Betty knew Alice would be against it. So it had come as no surprise to her when her mom begrudgingly gave her youngest daughter her blessing—albeit with several non-negotiable conditions. The first two had been relatively tame for Alice: Betty had to let her know her work phone and work e-mail (“in case of emergencies, dear”), and Betty had to leave her lovingly restored 1970 Chevy Chevelle SS 454 back in Riverdale (“Think of the insurance, Elizabeth! Not to mention the added expense of finding a suitable garage”). 

 

The last condition, though, had been what had driven Betty reluctantly from Jughead’s bed and into their bathroom. Alice had tried to force Betty into calling her once a week on top of promising to come home to Riverdale at least once every three months. In a rare fit of stubbornness, the young blonde had balked at her mother’s edict.After a rather spectacular fit of pique (Alice), and some surprisingly effective threats (Betty), the two Cooper women had reached a detente of sorts. Betty agreed to call her mother at least once a quarter and would spend _all_ major holidays at home in Riverdale as well as two other holidays of Alice’s choosing. In exchange, Alice would _only_ use Betty’s work contact information in case of _true_ emergencies (someone had to be in a hospital or worse), and she would keep any negative criticisms about Betty’s job to a minimum. Unfortunately, there was one very sizable black hole in their arrangement that Betty hadn’t counted on: Alice only agreed to limit her negative thoughts about Betty’s _work_. As far as Alice was concerned, she had interpreted that to mean that _every other_ area of Betty’s life was fair game for her withering scrutiny. 

 

As an investigative reporter, Alice had honed her skills in picking up other people’s subconscious tells in order to pursue leads; but as a mother, there were few better at zeroing in on their children’s deepest, darkest insecurities and crucifying them for their perceived weaknesses. 

 

Betty had already been apprehensive about having to call her mother; however, after her passionate night with Jughead, she was terrified that Alice might find out. Given her mother’s track record of single-handedly destroying nearly every good thing in her life, Betty was petrified that if Alice suspected she was involved in some romance her mother would figure out just the right way to poison it. Knowing that she’d just have to hope for the best, she scrolled through her contacts list until she found her mom’s entry. She took a deep breath and dialed the number.

 

The phone rang once, then rang again before the third ring was abruptly interrupted by Alice picking up. 

 

“Elizabeth!” Alice’s voice came across the line clear and true.

 

“Mom,” Betty replied with noticeably less pep.

 

“Did you just get up? You sound tired.”

 

From someone else’s parent, Alice’s words would’ve come across as the warmth and love of parental concern: Betty knew better.

 

“I’ve only been up about fifteen minutes…”

 

“My, waking up at 8:30 on a Saturday? If you aren’t careful, that’ll turn into a nasty habit. You know you need the extra time to make yourself properly presentable before you have to interact with other people, Elizabeth.” 

 

And there is was. The first shot fired, Betty thought vaguely. She was now faced with the unenviable dilemma of deciding whether to ignore the comment or to goad Alice back.

 

“Well, the only person who I’m going to run into at this hour is my roommate, Mom,” Betty perked up at the thought of Jughead, “and I’m pretty sure they don’t really care whether I’m ‘pressed and dressed’ from the minute I wake up.”

 

“Oh, that’s right!” Alice responded with slightly too much glee. “ _I forgot_ you’d gotten a new roommate. How’s that working out, Elizabeth? Hopefully she’s a better influence on you than that Ledge girl.”

 

“Mom!” Betty said slightly exasperated. “You know Veronica’s last name is _Lodge_.” She added as a mumble under her breath, “I’ve only been best friends with her for close to ten years.” 

 

“What was that, Elizabeth? You faded out there for a second,” Alice said sharply.

 

“Nothing, mom,” Betty said quickly. “And no, my new roommate is nothing like V.” The younger Cooper felt a comforting warm fuzziness start to bloom in her chest just thinking of him.

 

“Well, that’s good at least,” her mother said with a little less lye lacing her voice. “You never told me how you met her though. Does she work for Condé Nast too? I hope she’s with _Brides_. You could afford to pick up a thing or two.” 

 

“Well, yes and no, Mom,” Betty hedged. “We don’t work together, but they’re also in publishing. They’re a pretty celebrated photojournalist actually.” 

 

As soon as she’d bragged about Jughead’s work to her mother, Betty knew she’d fucked up. Alice had been in the journalism game for a _long_ time; she knew that _photo_ journalists were almost exclusively men—especially the ones with any major accolades. 

 

Just as she’d known she would, Alice instantly honed in on the breadcrumb Betty inadvertently gave her about why she was playing the “pronoun” game.

“A photographer?” Alice said suspiciously. “What’s her name? I’m _sure_ I’m familiar with her work since there’s only about six major female photojournalists…”

 

Betty had walked herself right into a Scylla and Charybdis dilemma. She could just admit that her roommate was a man and prepare herself for whatever onslaught of vitriol her mother was sure to express. Alternatively, she could try to hide the ball a little longer by giving Alice more information about Jughead in an attempt to delay the inevitable. Mentally, she gave herself a disgusted shake at the latter thought. Jughead was a great guy, and certainly didn’t deserve to be sacrificed on the pyre of Alice Cooper’s expectations just to save Betty from some of her mother’s unpleasantness. She took a steadying breath and tried to prepare herself as best she could for her mother’s unavoidable castigation. 

 

“I never said my roommate was a woman…” Betty said quietly.

 

A cavernous silence suddenly stretched between them like a gaping maw.

 

“Well,” Alice’s clipped tone finally filtered down over the line. “I can’t say I’m surprised…”

 

Betty weakly tried to interject. “Mom…”

 

“I mean, after all that trouble you caused for your brother’s friend, Chic, I _knew_ you had loose morals…”

 

“ _I_ was Chic’s _victim_ ,” Betty tried to argue more strongly without success.

 

“Does your new ‘roommate’ know about your past whoring, Elizabeth? I bet that’s why he agreed to this arrangement. What _is_ the going rate for your ‘services’ now? I’m curious.”

 

“I _wasn’t_ a prostitute, mom,” Betty whispered, willing herself not to cry by digging her finger nails into her palms. “Chic _tricked me_ into camming and then used that to extort me.”

 

There was a brief pause between them, and for a second, Betty _almost_ thought she’d finally broken through to her mother about this after all these years. But then, Alice spoke.

 

“And was _Chic_ ‘exorting you’ why you kept doing it in college then?” Alice said with a gloating sneer.

 

Betty nearly dropped her phone from shock. Until that very moment, the only people she believed had known about her _college_ cam girl work had been her and Veronica, and she knew V would never breathe a word of it to Alice. 

 

“I…I…how do you…” Betty tried stuttering out.

 

“ _Oh please_ , Elizabeth. Don’t play dumb. I saw your bank records. I knew your little ‘work-study’ job couldn’t possibly be paying you enough for you to _never_ ask me for money, so I got my hands on your bank statements. I saw the incoming ACH payments. From there, it wasn’t too difficult to figure out who was actually paying you, and _from that,_ to making the leap as to _what_ you were being paid for.”

 

Betty just focused on breathing through her nose as the sharp sting of her nails drawing blood got even more pronounced.

 

Her mother, meanwhile, barreled on. “And to think. That poor boy Chic had to drop out of school and go through the ordeal of being tried as a sexual predator _when he was right all along_. _You_ were the sexual aggressor. You set _him_ up to take advantage of him.”

 

“That’s…that’s…that’s not true,” Betty said in a choked voice, trying to hold back her suffocating sobs. 

 

“ _Sure_ ,” Alice said mockingly, “There were ‘other’ victims. Funny how none of them seemed to pop up when he was tried though.”

 

“ _He was convicted_ ,” Betty finally managed to grit out.

 

Alice just clicked her tongue. “Ah, but do you think he still _would’ve been_ if the jury was aware of your other ‘camming’ activities…?”

 

As much as she hated to admit it, she knew her mother was right: Chic probably _never_ would’ve been convicted of sexually extorting her if the full scope of her cam girl activities had been known. Luckily for her, she hadn’t resumed camming until _after_ his trial had finished.

 

“Anyway, I just hope this latest john of yours knows to wrap it up. Who really knows where you’ve been, Elizabeth,” Alice continued casually.

 

Betty was at a complete loss for words.

 

When she managed to try whispering out again that she _wasn’t_ a hooker, Alice ignored her, saying “Oh, and I hope you don’t plan on bringing him up to the house for Labor Day. I refuse to allow you to pollute Polly’s sweet, innocent children with your hedonistic lifestyle.”

 

The young woman gaped. She’d forgotten her mother had claimed Labor Day as a “major” holiday for which she needed to return to Riverdale. 

 

Taking her youngest child’s silence as acquiescence, Alice wrapped up their conversation with a deceptively maternal, “Good chat, Elizabeth. It’s always so wonderful whenever we get a chance to talk. We can’t wait to see you in a couple weeks!” 

 

The line went dead as Alice ended the call. 

 

Betty barely had time to set her phone down on the bathroom counter before she was doubled over the toilet dry heaving in full body spasms. Once she realized that nothing was going to come up, she crawled into their bathtub to wait out the rest of her panic attack, trying to mentally talk herself down while she quietly hyperventilated and silently prayed that she just passed out from the lack of oxygen. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Jug hadn’t meant to be out for so long. Once he’d decided he was going to have a cigarette after all, he’d been sorely disappointed to find that he was completely out. As he’d been heading out of their building to hit up the deli he liked for some smokes and some coffee, Archie had been coming in from what appeared to be a long night of his own. 

 

“Arch,” he’d nodded as he passed by his friend.

 

“Hey Jug,” the red-headed man casually replied.

 

Jughead had already made it a quarter of the way up the block by the time Archie came jogging back up to him. He gave the other man an inquiring look, which Archie had taken as an invitation to unload the past several confusing months of his relationship with Veronica on to the dark haired man.

 

For all that Veronica Lodge was not generally high on Jughead’s list of favorite people, in this particular instance, he found himself thanking her unique brand of chaos. Archie had gone on for nearly six blocks about “how wonderful Ronnie” was and how he’d “never met a woman like her before.” Jughead simply nodded and made indistinguishable noises at socially appropriate intervals. 

Archie took Jughead’s otherwise-apparent-lack-of-interest as encouragement to continue his tale to the point that even after they’d reached the deli and Jug had not only purchased his items but also used the restroom, Archie hadn’t lost his place in the story he was retelling his friend. 

 

It was only after he’d managed to get through his _third_ cigarette while still standing outside their apartment after getting back from the deli, that Jughead finally realized that Archie wasn’t going to run out of steam until he was cut off. 

 

“Arch, have you ever tried just _talking_ to Veronica about all this stuff?” he’d asked, not unkindly. 

 

His friend just looked at him dumbly.

 

“I’m just saying, it would probably go a long way with her if you just talked to her. How’re you ever going to know where you stand with her if you refuse to tell her how you feel about her being with you and Reggie at the same time?” he’d prodded. As he’d said it, the echoes of relevancy to his own situation with the blonde he’d left in his apartment had not escaped him.

 

Jughead sighed in relief as he’d watched his friend jog up the street with a look of determined inspiration written all over his face. His relief began turning back to anxiety though as he started walking back into the building. He knew he needed to talk to Betty—not just about the fact that he suspected he’d begun falling in love with her (a conversation that was probably best put on hold until _after_ they’d dated for a while), but more pressingly, to clarify their current situation. 

 

He was not a “casual” man by nature in any area of his life. Although Betty had indicated that she wasn’t big on “entertaining” when they’d first met, she also hadn’t indicated her position on what sleeping together with someone _meant_ to her. Not that he was going to judge her for being a cam girl—because he had to admit, it was definitely hot to think of her performing like that—but he didn’t know if that was how she generally approached sex. As something impersonal. Just a biological urge that was more fun to scratch with another person than by oneself. He desperately hoped not.

 

Given that he’d been gone for the better part of an hour, Jughead was struck by the near tomb-like silence in his apartment. Succumbing to a brief moment of panic, he quickly passed through the kitchen and opened a couple of the cabinets: everything was exactly where it should’ve been. The knowledge both comforted and scared him. On the one hand, it didn’t look she’d pulled a runner on him secretly moving out because she’d freaked out so badly over what had happened between them the night before. On the other though, their apartment seemed _infinitely_ too quiet for her to still be there.

 

In a moment of wild hope, Jughead went over to check his room, secretly hoping that she’d had second thoughts about leaving him while he’d been out. Although he knew it had been a long shot, he still felt himself deflate a little when he spied his clearly empty bed. Trying not to succumb to his growing feelings of rejection, he stalked over to Betty’s room. Like his own though, there was no sign of her—down to her perfectly tucked in sheets still undisturbed from when she’d made her bed the morning before. His anxiety and hurt were beginning to bleed into panic as he started to blindly glance around until the second time his eyes swept wildly over to their bathroom. Or specifically, to its shut door. 

 

A small part of his lizard brain tried to remind him that the door had been closed when he’d left earlier that morning. Since he’d been more focused on fulfilling his nicotine need and he wasn’t desperate to use the bathroom before he’d left, he hadn’t really thought much of it. Now that he was thinking about it though, the door had definitely been closed, but he couldn’t remember hearing any sounds coming from inside. He walked closer; however, he still didn’t hear any signs of life from within. Tentatively, he tried the door knob. Unlike the easy unlocking “click” sound he was halfway expecting, he found himself rattling a _locked_ door instead. Pressing his ear up to the door, he listened again for some sign of life from the other side. 

 

It was so faint he almost missed it, so he pressed his ear even closer to a crack in the door. Focusing all of his attention on his ears, he finally heard it again: soft, whimpering hiccuped gasps of air. 

 

“ _Betty…._ ” he called out tentatively. 

 

He listened intently again for some kind of assurance from inside the bathroom, but again, all he heard was her soft labored breathing. 

 

For the first time since he’d moved in, he found himself glad that various tenants throughout the 1980s had been so rowdy—it had induced the landlord to install door knobs that could be unlocked _from the outside_ on all the interior doors. He dug through his pockets looking for a coin. Finding none, he went for the next best thing he could think of. Quickly unsnapping one of his suspenders, he fitted the metal clip into the groove of the door knob’s locking mechanism and turned the clip like a flathead screwdriver. The locking mechanism unlocked with a soft ‘click.’ 

 

Jughead slowly twisted the door knob as he incrementally pushed open the bathroom door. 

 

Of all the sights he imagined himself prepared for, he wasn’t entirely sure the reality of their situation fell on that spectrum. 

 

As he peered into the bathroom, his eyes slowly processed the scene in front of him. His normally unflappable roommate was laying in their bathtub, fully dressed, curled up on herself, with a glazed look on her face as she quietly hyperventilated. His brain about imploded at the sheer incongruity of it. 

 

He approached her cautiously, almost like how he’d been taught to approach wild animals—making sure to move slowly, not make any sudden moves, and to speak as quietly as possible. “Betty?” he whispered as he inched into the bathroom. 

 

Betty didn’t so much as twitch an eyelid.

 

Jug moved a little closer. Betty’s anxiety was rolling off her in waves he could practically see. “Betts….?” he tried again once he was standing next to the tub. 

 

The beautiful, broken blonde in front of him was too far gone to hear him.

 

He thought back to some of what he’d learned about panic attacks when he’d first sought treatment for his PTSD. Something about the benefits of physical touch seemed to hover in the back of his mind. Being careful not to freak her out further, Jughead tentatively climbed into the dry tub behind Betty. Once he figured she’d had a sufficient amount of time to adjust to his presence, he guardedly wrapped his arms around her torso and gently pulled her vibrating body closer to his chest. At first, he simply held her, giving her body a chance to register his presence. 

 

Jug knew exactly when Betty’s mind snapped back into herself because her dying fish-like gasps of air evolved into soft tear-choked sobs as she quietly repeated “I’m so sorry, Juggie. I’m sorry I’m such a bother” over and over like a mantra. He held her tighter then as she burrowed closer to his chest, her hands twisting themselves up in the soft cotton of his white tank top. The young man started alternatively running his hand comfortingly up and down her back and side, and rubbing her back in soothing circles. While he tried to physically bring her comfort, he also whispered nondescript shushing noises and “It’s ok, Betts. _You’re ok, Betts. I’ve got you_ ” into the crown of her head. 

 

Before long, Betty’s death grip on his shirt eased and her breathing evened out until finally all Jughead heard were her soft, purring snores.

 

He didn’t noticed the blood until they both woke up later.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

His arms reflexively gripped her tighter the minute his subconscious processed her body heat pulling away from him again. After what he’d seen earlier, he refused to let her walk out on him again without an explanation, so he held on to her like a toddler with a security plushie. 

 

“Jug…” Betty tried saying softly. 

 

He just mumbled a sound of dissension in response as he squeezed his arms more closely around her.

 

“ _Juggie…_ ” he heard her try again in a more singsong voice.

 

This time he just shook his head against her hair with a negative “mmnhmmn” noise.

 

There was a pause. Then finally he heard Betty say with a small smile to her voice, “Well, if you _want_ me to pee on you…I mean, I think that’s kind of gross, but…”

 

Jughead immediately relaxed his arms allowing the young woman to climb out of the bathtub.

 

When he didn’t make to move, she gave him an arch look as she said, “I think I can probably handle this part myself.” 

 

He got up slowly, his body protesting the mistreatment of having slept in an unforgiving porcelain bathtub. As he made to move passed her, he said just loudly enough for her to hear, “We’re going to talk about this, Betts.”

 

“I know,” she answered with a sigh before adding “Make some coffee?” 

 

He nodded his acknowledgement of her request as he left her alone in their bathroom.

 

By the time he’d finished making both of them coffee, Betty emerged looking infinitely less disheveled with her ponytail neatly back in place and her complexion less splotchy. 

 

Instead of sitting at the dining room table like he’d expected, she settled in on their living room couch, patting the seat next to her invitingly. Grabbing both cups of joe, he sauntered over to join her, holding one of the mugs out to her as he sat down. His arm seemed to naturally drape behind her as she tucked herself more closely against him while taking a deep, appreciative sip of her coffee. 

 

From the position of her body, he didn’t really see so much as _feel_ her take a steadying breath before she leaned forward and set her mug down on their oval coffee table. When she returned to her original position, she rested one hand on his chest while draping her other arm loosely over his hips, leaning her head against him in such a way that he was easily able to rest his chin on the top of her head. 

 

Her fingers absently drew figures on his chest for a minute before she eventually started speaking.

 

“I’m sorry, Jughead,” she started off, causing him to instantly tense up as he mentally prepared himself for her attempt to ‘let him down gently.’

 

He held his breath as she started speaking again. “I’m sorry I left you like that this morning. I can’t imagine what you must’ve thought when I wasn’t there…”

 

The tension in his body swiftly dissolved as their conversation took a sharp left from where he assumed it was going. He used the brief pause in her explanation to put his half-drunk cup of coffee on the end table next to him before returning his arm to rest on top of the decorative pillows Betty had picked out. The hand that had been draped across the back of couch suddenly inched its way down until it was close enough for him to lightly caress the back of Betty’s neck. She twisted her neck toward his soft touch while she purred contently for a second before continuing on.

 

“There are things about me, Jug. Things that I probably should’ve told you before we slept together.”

 

He waited in silence while his roommate gathered her thoughts, not entirely sure where their conversation was going.

 

After a couple minutes, Betty took another steadying breath before she continued speaking. “I told you before that I used to be a cam girl, but that wasn’t the whole story. I used to have an older brother, but when I was a senior in high school he was killed by a drunk driver shortly after he’d gone back to college to start his Junior year. Even though there was a little more than a four year age gap between us, we’d been pretty close growing up, and I didn’t take his death well. I’d had some issues with self-harm for several years before that and the darkness and rage I felt about Charles’ death just started to overwhelm me. Anyway, I wound up running into my brother’s best friend, Chic, when he came home for the funeral. We got to talking and somehow one thing lead to another and he suggested that camming might be a good outlet for me to channel my darker impulses.”

 

Jughead’s chest constricted as Betty’s voice began taking on a more faraway quality.

 

“Chic was right,” Betty continued. “I _enjoyed_ camming. I _loved_ letting out my ‘Dark’ Betty. And the fact that no one I knew was aware that prim, perfect Betty Cooper was doing something so taboo made it that much better. At least, that was the case until Chic reached out to me again a few weeks later. It turned out that he’d recorded nearly all of my shows, and said not only would he make sure that everyone in Riverdale found out about them, but he’d also publish all my personal contact info online so any of my customers would be able to find me in real life unless I turned over all the money I made from camming to him.”

 

Jughead seized up next to her as unbridled rage began running through him. There was no doubt in his mind that if he ever came across this Chic character, he wouldn’t find the darkness and rage in Juggie nearly as fun to manipulate as Betty’s. 

 

The fingers that Betty had been resting on his hip absently snuck under the hem of his tank top and she lightly began dragging her nails along the soft skin that was now exposed between his shirt and the waistband of his well-worn black jeans. 

 

“I tried putting him off for as long as I could. I even went so far as to stop performing for a while, but then one day I came home from school, and Chic was sitting in my kitchen, having coffee with my mom and reminiscing about my brother. It was his not-so-subtle threat that he could torpedo my entire life at any time if I refused to cooperate. So I went back to camming, but I also filed a criminal complaint with the Riverdale Police Department. Chic was eventually arrested and went to trial. It turned out that he’d set up quite a cottage industry for himself in sexual exploitation. Unfortunately though, I was the only victim who was actually willing to testify. Because of that, things wound up getting really ugly around town. While the criminal proceedings were going on, Chic’s parents sued my family for the defamation of his character. The judge in that case eventually tossed it out after Chic was convicted in the criminal case, but not before my mom has just about drained my college fund to pay the attorney’s fees in the civil case. That’s how I wound up at SUNY with Veronica, rather than at Columbia like I’d originally planned.” 

 

Jughead wrapped Betty in his embrace as he whispered softly “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Betts” over and over. As he held her against his chest, he began to feel his tank top getting wet and he realized she’d begun softly crying.

 

“You know what the worst part of all of it was though? It wasn’t having my trust violated by someone I’d known most of my life. It wasn’t having my personal business put on public display for everyone in my hometown to see. Hell, it wasn’t even having the promise of attending my dream school ripped away. The worst part was the fact that my mother _blamed me_ for the whole thing happening in the first place.”

 

“You can’t be serious,” Jughead managed to choke out, shocked that any parent, let alone one with _Betty Cooper_ as a child, would react so callously.

 

Betty continued on, almost as if she hadn’t entirely heard Jug.

 

“You need to understand. My mom, Alice, has never been a particularly _liberal_ woman in the best of times. She’s always been more concerned with making sure the Coopers present themselves as an ideal family with the perfect marriage and the perfect children more than anything else. A few months before my brother died though, my older sister Polly wound up dropping out of high school because she’d gotten pregnant. The ‘shame’ of Polly’s ‘poor decision-making’ really weighed on my mom at the time and then for all this to come out about me? Let’s just say the term ‘whore of Babylon’ may have been mentioned a disproportionate number of times in my house in reference to both me and my sister.”

 

“Good God, Betty,” Jughead said quietly with abject horror. “Your mom is Satan.”

 

Betty chuckled a little against his chest. “Veronica thinks the same thing.”

 

That caught him a little off guard that he and Veronica Lodge could actually have some shared middle ground. 

 

They sat in weighted silence for several minutes, both of them working through what Betty said, when the young blonde woman added so quietly Jug had to strain to hear her, “She thinks you’re a client of mine, by the way.”

 

Jughead physically recoiled, inadvertently crushing Betty to his chest in the progress. “ _Come again?_ ” he eventually managed to grit out.

 

If Betty and Jughead _hadn’t_ already slept together, she’d actually have found her mom’s insinuations about the relationship between the two of them hysterical. Things being what they were though, she just felt like something that had the chance to be this wonderful force for good in her life was suddenly sullied and dirty. 

 

“Part of the deal I made with my mom when I moved to New York for my job was that I have to call her at least once every three months in addition to physically going home a handful of times a year. _Today_ was the first time I had to call her since we moved in together. _That’s_ why I snuck out of bed this morning, Juggie. I didn’t want you to have to deal with my Alice drama.” Betty gave a dry laugh. “I guess I royally failed on that account.” 

 

Jughead’s heart broke for her as he stroked her hair soothingly. “Oh, Betts, baby, no, don’t say that.”

 

Betty gave a little sigh. “She assumed that my new roommate was a woman, Jug. And I could’ve played along, but I didn’t want to do that to you. I didn’t want you to ever think I was ashamed of you, of _being_ with you.”

 

Jug just squeezed Betty a little tighter, overcome by the fact that she’d been so concerned _about him_ that she willing put herself in her mother’s firing path. 

 

“Anyway, like I said, once I told her my roommate was a guy, she went full ‘Alice Cooper’ on me. Called mea whore, and implied that I was paying my rent in sexual services. Said she hoped you had enough sense to use protection because _heaven knows_ what you might catch from me. Oh, and she forbid me from bringing you home with me at Labor Day lest I corrupt my eight-year-old niece and nephew.” 

 

Jughead thought long and hard for a minute. There were few people in his life that he could genuinely say were _evil_ , and right now, Betty’s mom was making a very good case for being included on that list. Luckily, before he had a chance to pour gasoline on the fire by going on a well-deserved tirade involving all the reasons he thought Alice Cooper was a raging bitch, the more mature side of his brain realized that probably wasn’t going to do much good to help the poor emotionally scarred woman in his arms. Instead, the more rational part of his brain kicked in enough for him to ask, “What do you need, Betty?”

 

Betty let out a deep, full body sigh, causing her to sink deeper against Jug’s body. “I just need to _not_ think about all this nonsense for a little while,” she added a little tiredly.

 

A beat later, Jug replied in a much huskier voice than either of them was expecting, “I can help with that.”

 

The blonde tried to interject, but the young man holding on to her quickly cut her off. He carefully used his free hand to tilt Betty’s face up until he was staring into her perfectly green eyes. “ _Please_ , _let me help with that_ ,” he said again, his voice dripping with the sudden onslaught of his desperate need for her. 

 

Betty chewed on her lower lip for a second before she gave Jughead a small nod of assent. In a flash, Jughead pulled her into his lap so that her knees were straddling either side of his hips as he crushed his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. He tried to pour every emotion he was feeling in _that_ moment into the kiss—to show Betty that she was so much stronger than her’s mother poisonous evil, that she had brought so much light and joy into his life even in just the few short months they’d lived together, that she _was worthy_ of having every good thing in her life including love. 

 

The passion in his kiss sparked an equally fervent response from the young woman on top of him, who managed to knock his beanie clean off in her haste to grab at his inky hair. As he felt her begin to aggressively grind herself against his denim-clad dick, he pulled his mouth away from hers with a grunt. “ _Betts_ ,” he growled. The rough gravel of his voice caused her to stop moving her hips with a high-pitched whinge of frustration. 

 

Suddenly, he managed to flip Betty over again as he slid to his knees in front of her, dragging her shorts down her toned legs as he went.Once he finally got the useless garment off her, he absently tossed it aside before spreading her thighs wider for his inspection. The sweet, tangy aroma of her arousal hit his nose as he took a deep breath, licking his lips in hungry anticipation. He gave her one last wanton look as he asked in a rasping voice, “What do you _need_ , Betts?’ 

 

She snaked a delicate hand back in his luxuriously soft hair when he suddenly let out a sharp hiss as she yanked brutally on it, saying “I need you to eat my pussy. I need to you to make me cum good and hard all over your mouth, Juggie.” 

 

He just gave her a dark grin before he tugged her exposed pussy fiercely toward his mouth. 

 

There was no preamble as he shoved his tongue viciously inside her throbbing cunt causing Betty to arch so violently off the couch that she nearly knocked it backwards. When she regained some of her balance, she chose to anchor herself going forward by winding her fingers through his hair hard enough that her finger nails began digging into his scalp. The new edge of pain spurred him on as he channeled it into harder swipes of his tongue over and around her engorged clit. 

 

Betty keened at the sensations he was creating in her, grinding herself more savagely against his talented mouth. “Oh Juggie,” she panted out, “I _love_ the way you eat me out. I love how you force me to grind my pussy against your mouth. Riding your tongue like such a good, dirty little girl.”

 

He just groaned in frustration as the filth coming out of her mouth made his cock as hard as rebar. 

 

His right hand snaked down between his own legs to palm his aching erection through his jeans, hoping to bring himself some small modicum of relief. 

 

Betty’s own frustrated need was evident as she began to whine, “Jug, _I need_ to cum for you. _I need you to make me cum so good and hard for you_ , just like a proper little slut. _Force me_ to cum all over your mouth, baby. _Pleeeeeeasssseeeeeeee_.” 

 

Reluctantly, he moved his hand from his cock and brought his index and middle fingers up to the drenched entrance of Betty’s pussy. As his fingers slid effortlessly inside her because of the state of her arousal, he reminded himself that this was all for her. As painful as it might be for him in the short term to give up a chance of his own to cum, his efforts in this moment were all to make sure that _her_ needs were satisfied—to help try to expel whatever dark demons her mother had spawned in her head. 

 

As his deft fingers probed her dripping pussy over and over toying with the spongy bundle of nerves he recognized as her G-spot, the rich timbre of his voice washed over her as he said, “That’s right, Betts. Your pussy _is mine now_. _I’m_ the only one who can make you cum like the good, dirty little girl you are. You just _love_ cumming for me, don’t you? You love how I can just make you _cum good and hard whenever I want. Over. And over. And over…_ ” 

 

“Oh yes, Juggie! _Only you_. You’re the _only_ one who’s ever been able to make me cum…”

 

While a large part of him wanted to attribute her words to just something she felt compelled to say in the throes of passions, there was a not insignificant part of him that felt the _way_ she’d said it indicated there was some truth to her words. Spurred on by her depraved admissions, Jug drove his tongue back into her pussy with renewed vigor. Between the demanding flicks and licks of his tongue and Betty’s frenzied grinding against his mouth, it didn’t take long before Betty’s moans started turning into the short, breathy staccato pants that Jughead was beginning to learn signaled her impending orgasm. She finally gave one last high-pitched, “ _Oh, Juggieeeeeeeeeeee!_ ” before she started twitching uncontrollably against his mouth, her Kegel-trained pussy stroking and gripping his talented tongue for all it was worth. 

 

As Betty began to fall limply to the side against the couch, she briefly caught sight of the angry-looking head of Jughead’s cock straining out from his jeans. “Oh, Jug…” Betty started to say sympathetically, but he quickly cut her off with a gentle “tsk.” 

 

“Don’t worry about me, Betts,” he said warmly. “I’m sure there’ll be time enough for me to get mine later. This was about you, baby.” He softly brushed back some of the errant hair that had escaped from her ponytail due to the force of her passionate head thrashing. Delicately, he made sure he was all safely tucked back into his jeans before he slid in behind her on the couch, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist as he slipped his other arm under the decorative pillows their heads both managed to rest on. Jughead softly kissed the back of Betty’s head—the last thought running through his mind as he drifted off into sleep with the angel in his arms being ‘I love you, Betty Cooper.’


	13. Is It Wrong To Keep You To Myself A Little Bit Longer….?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty and Jughead develop a domestic routine, and try to figure out how to navigate going public with their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First--thank you to all of you wonderful shiny people who have chosen to follow me along on this journey. I hope I can keep putting out a product you enjoy reading. That being said, let me send an EXTRA SPECIAL thank you to all of you who have taken the additional time to let me know you like my work whether by dropping me a comment, leaving a kudos, bookmarking my story, or reblogging my story to further get the word out. You are amazing! Thank you so, so much for your wonderful support.
> 
> Second, as usual, this is un-beta'd, so I take full ownership for any and all errors,
> 
> Third, I does the Tumblr thing, and sometimes I drop updates on my stories. 😊Come find me @sunshinebunnie if you're curious.

Over the course of the following week, Jughead and Betty settled into a kind of amiable routine. Instead of waking up early to go for a run to start her day, Betty was setting her alarm so she could wake Jughead up with some early morning head before languorously riding his cock until she fell gently into orgasmic bliss. Jughead, meanwhile, had taken to photographing random objects throughout the day that reminded him of Betty and sending them to her. Some of the photos were obvious: the rumpled sheets on his bed before he left for work, the couch they had christened so many times by now that he felt bad inviting other people to sit on it. Others were less so, like the lily-of-the-valley photos he’d sent her from the Flower District in Chelsea one morning after being gone all evening on an overnight shoot, or the pictures of the NY Public Library lions he’d sent after trekking all the way to Midtown to surprise her for lunch. Their dinner routine had largely remained unchanged, although it seemed to take Jughead longer to clean the dishes as he’d spend half the time impishly squirting Betty with the pullout spray hose on their kitchen faucet. However, the biggest change to their routine came to bedtime. 

 

When 9 p.m. had rolled around the first night, Betty had already been passed out on the couch for thirty minutes. He continued to let her sleep undisturbed until he was ready to go to bed closer to 3 a.m., at which point he’d scooped her up like a rag doll and carried her easily to his room. The second night, Betty stuck with her normal bedtime routine of bidding Jughead good night promptly at 9; however, this time she added a good-natured “try not to stay up too late” before she headed to her room. Jughead had been fully absorbed in his latest bout of photo edits an hour later when Betty’s soft needy whimpers reached him in the living room. Concerned that Betty was having some sort of Alice-induced nightmare, the young Jones man had dutifully gone to check on her. As he’d poked his head around her door though, the sight before him was not remotely what he’d been expecting. Instead of a still-asleep Betty quietly tossing and turning under the covers, his sexy blonde roommate was laying naked and spreadeagled on top of her comforter, lazily playing with her pussy as she’d pinned him with a lust-fueled stare and said cheekily, “You were taking too long.” The third night had been much the same, although this time she added the twist of “needing to grab a shower” to her increasing repertoire of “Ways to Get Jughead to Come to Bed Early.” After watching her meander naked through their apartment for several minutes--first while she got her skin lotion, then when she forgot to grab her towel, and then finally, for no apparent reason at all other than to distract Jughead--he copped on to her wiles. 

 

The fact that his amazingly smart, funny, sexy roommate had unholy designs on his body floored Jughead. But, for all their domestic bliss and the record breaking amount of sex they were having, they still had yet to discuss one crucial thing: what did it all  _ mean _ ? 

 

Jughead knew exactly what he wanted: a monogamous relationship that wound up with Betty wearing some life changing jewelry in about a year or two.  However, even though she had started sharing more of herself with him, he wasn’t quite sure if she wanted the same things, and it was slowly killing him. He tried to tell himself that even having her in his life  _ at all _ was a miracle he should be thankful for, but he was still conflicted. On the one hand, he craved the certainty that formalizing their relationship would provide, allowing him to put Betty and their life together into his “Promising Future” box in the back of his mind. On the other hand though, there was a small, but persistent voice in the back of his mind whispering that Betty would likely bolt on him  _ again _ if he tried to tie her down with something like “labels” or a “relationship talk.” He hated that there was any part of him that doubted Betty’s feelings for him or their relationship, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d run off on him not once, but twice when faced with emotional intimacy. ‘She came around the second time,’ he tried reasoning with himself, but he always found himself returning to the same counterargument, ‘But her  _ first instinct _ was to run.’ Jughead had learned at an early age the dangerous perils loving someone who ran away from emotional connections when his mom summarily abandoned him. He’d never admit it sober, but he’d waxed poetic about his mixed feelings on the matter on one or two occasions with Sweet Pea when he’d gotten rather stupendously drunk. 

 

Jughead had gotten so caught up playing house with Betty that he completely forgot other people knew where he lived and would occasionally choose to visit him at home--like for his floating poker game. 

 

He wasn’t quite sure how they’d started, but for going on several years, he, Toni, Sweet Pea and Fangs, had religiously played poker every Saturday night barring some act of God (or more likely, Cheryl Blossom). What he did remember was that they’d always wound up playing at Toni’s place, which had worked out perfectly until she’d taken up with the red-headed she-beast, who would routinely swan around the table staring at everyone’s cards and then telling Toni how to bet. After the third time Fangs got wiped out after going all-in on a bluffed bet, the boys decided--and Toni acquiesced--to making the game a floating game, so that no one got home field advantage every time they played. So, once every four weeks, it was someone else’s turn to host. Since Juggie had last hosted right before Betty’s moved in, it had slipped his mind that his turn would be coming up again sooner than he realized. 

 

Fangs had turned up on his doorstep promptly at 8, Archie apparently letting him in before he had a chance to buzz. Luckily, his friend was a perfect guest, and had brought snacks with him. Luckier still though had been Betty’s completely undisturbed reaction over the unanticipated intrusion into their home life. By the time Toni straggled in at 8:25, Betty had quickly realized that she needed to run out to the store for some emergency pre-grocery-shopping snack buying to tide over Jughead and his army of competing appetites. 

 

They were on their third round of play when Betty returned with the efforts of her snack foraging. By the time they’d finished the fourth round, she’d whipped up two batches of chicken wings, a tray of pizza rolls, some homemade nachos with fresh made guacamole, a few racks of ribs and an array of grilled cheese sandwiches. By those finished setting out all the food for him and his friends, Jughead realized he wasn’t the only person falling a little in love with her. 

 

“B’tty,” Sweet Pea said around a bite of grilled cheese, “if you  _ ever _ get tired of living with Jones here, I will  _ always  _ have an open door for you and your cooking.” The humble blonde just laughed a little before thanking him for his wholly unnecessary offer. It did not escape Jughead’s notice that Betty hadn’t breathed a word about the two of them when she let his friend down. Something ugly twisted in him. 

 

Toni noticed the subtle shift in his mood almost immediately. 

 

Taking a drag of her beer, she gave her friend an appraising look before piping up, “So, Jones, whatever happened with your girl?” 

 

Before Jughead even had a chance to twitch, Sweet Pea jumped in, “C’mon, Toni! You know there’s no woman. Jughead only loves two things and neither is sex.” Dramatically holding up his index finger for emphasis, he said “One, food, and two…” 

 

“Sleep,” Fangs finished for him. 

 

Both men doubled over in laughter. 

 

“Uh-huh,” Toni said dryly.

 

Jug just kept his eyes studiously trained on his cards, unwilling to spill his guts in front of  _ all _ his best friends quite yet, especially if there was a chance Betty didn’t feel as seriously about him. When Toni’s determined gaze stayed zero’d in on the side of his head, he finally gave her a look devoid of all emotion as he shrugged his shoulders and parroted, “You heard them.” 

 

They were so focused on cracking and being uncrackable that they both missed Betty’s Irish exit back to her bedroom. 

 

****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

The sounds of the poker game continued to filter over the false wall into Betty’s room as she lay tightly curled around her pillow, willing herself not to do anything drastic. 

 

_ Years _ of hiding things from her mom—from big stuff like her camming to silly stuff like her deeper shade lipsticks—had made Betty intensely private about her personal life, what little of it she’d managed to salvage after Chic’s trial. Despite that, Betty felt inexplicably hurt that Jughead didn’t seem to want his best friends to know about them. Toni had given him the perfect opportunity to bring it up by asking, but not only didn’t he answer her, he didn’t bother correcting his two other friends for thinking the idea of him dating someone seriously was the most hilarious thing ever. Granted, they hadn’t actually  _ talked _ about what was going on between them, or even if they were exclusive. She clutched her pillow tighter at the thought of sharing Jughead with another woman. ‘ _ No _ ,’ she found herself thinking with a surprising amount of animosity, ‘ _ Jug was hers.  _ Full stop.’ Betty continued anger-hugging her bedding until she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

 

****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

When she awoke from her fitful night of tossing and turning, Betty felt so exhausted she didn’t realize for several minutes that she hadn’t woken up to her alarm. Upon this realization, she flailed about for her phone for a couple minutes until she found it buried deeply under three pillows. There were two unread text messages, which mildly surprised her for a Sunday morning. The first was from her sister, Polly. Betty gave her bleary head a shake. As much as she loved Pol, since she’d gone all “New Age”-time-is-a-flat-circle Betty couldn’t deal with her before ingesting _several_ _pots_ of strong coffee to fortify her. Skipping to the second text, she was happy to see it was from Veronica. ‘Brunch. Petite Abeille. Noon. Bring Holden Caulfield with you to keep Archiekins company while we have girl talk. No excuses.’ Betty’s earlier happiness waned as Veronica’s dictate promptly reminded her of what happened the night before with Jughead’s friends. She glanced back at her phone. 11:07. It gave her a solid twenty-five minutes to get up, get dressed, and still make it to the restaurant on time. 

 

“Jug…” she tentatively called over the wall.

 

She didn’t hear anything. 

 

Betty slid out of her bed and padded over to the door of her room. Peeking her head out of the door, she surveyed the damage in the living room. Jughead’s friends had been surprisingly neat. In fact, if she hadn’t known any better, she’d have argued she and Jug didn’t have  _ any _ company at their apartment the night prior. She looked back at her bed. Jughead’s “side” was definitely undisturbed. ‘It couldn’t have been just us,’ she thought, ‘he definitely would’ve come to bed.’ 

 

Betty had just poked her head into Jug’s empty room when their apartment door opened and the man himself strolled casually into their kitchen. 

 

“Betts?” he asked with a confused twang to his voice, his sudden reappearance causing the blonde woman to startle. 

 

“Juggie!” she replied with a surprised shriek, holding her hand to her chest, her racing heart beating frantically under her thin cotton pajama t-shirt. The Jones man smirked unapologetically. Betty flushed in reaction to his devil-may-care smile, still a little caught off guard that someone so amazing was interested in her.

 

The tension in the air became thick with longing and their mutual misunderstandings from the night before.

 

Eventually, after realizing she’d been staring at his cherry red lips for far too long to be considered appropriate, Betty remembered what she meant to say. “V texted this morning. We’ve been summoned to Belgian brunch in…” she checked her watch, “....about twenty-three minutes.”

 

His perfectly sculpted eyebrows quirked downward in confusion. “Don’t you mean  _ you’ve _ been summoned to brunch?”

 

Betty gave him a blisteringly brilliant smile in return. “Nope. She  _ says _ you need to come to keep Archie company, but really it’s so she can evaluate you. See if you deserve the Veronica Lodge Seal of Approval.”

 

“I wasn’t aware that was a thing,” he replied dryly.

 

She gave him a curious look. “Try not to be too hard on her. Me moving out was a  _ big _ deal. In a way, her whole Archie-Reggie thing has been good for her because it’s kept her from brooding about quote unquote  _ losing _ me to you.” 

 

Betty turned the full force of her most winsome look on him. “ _ Please come,  _ Jug,” she said earnestly, “it would mean everything to me if you guys got along.” 

 

He shrugged. It wasn’t like he wasn’t already dressed. “Brunch you say, huh?” he replied with a smile.

 

She blinded him with the radiance from her returned smile. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The entire restaurant was a tribute to Hergé, although as he perused the multi-lingual selection of Tintin comics available to borrow while dining, there were a few Asterix comics thrown in too. It was the last place on Earth he expected Veronica Lodge to choose for brunch. 

 

The royal purple of her tea dress stood in sharp contrast to the bright butter yellow paint on the walls. It also an interesting contrast with Archie, who was trying to look as inconspicuous as his signature red hair would allow. 

 

Despite the tight spacing of the tables all around them, Betty appeared to seamlessly float toward their friends as if her feet never needed to make contact with the ground. Jug, meanwhile, tried to follow behind as gracefully as he could, only bumping into three other diners and getting his suspenders snagged once on a chair back. 

 

As they got closer to Veronica and Archie’s table in the corner, Veronica suddenly shot up like a jack-in-the-box. “Beeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” she shrilled “I knew you wouldn’t say no to your favorite brunch spot in the city.” 

 

After Jughead got done shaking the dog whistle of Veronica’s high pitched squeal from his ears, he filed the information about Betty and the restaurant away for later. He could hardly say he was surprised by the revelation. Everything about the restaurant jived with Betty’s personality: the warm, cozy interior with the tables practically on top of each other, the mouthwatering food whose smells permeated half way down the street, even the interior design focused on the fictional boy reporter. 

 

“I took the liberty and ordered a round of mimosas,” the imperious young woman said as Betty and Jughead sat down at the two open seats. 

 

“I’m filled with uncontained joy,” Jughead said under his breath, earning him a quick jab to the ribs from Betty. 

 

Before he had a chance to say anything else, Archie was handing him a menu. “Jug, dude,” the other man said with unrestrained enthusiasm, “you’ve gotta see this menu. You can waffles with  _ anything _ here! It’s amazing.” 

 

Jughead’s eyes quickly dropped to the object his friend handed him. His stomach rumbled. He’d spent the better part of his morning straightening up the apartment feeling exceptionally guilty that he’d sprung a social function on Betty without warning simply because he’d been too wrapped up in playing house with her to keep track of his other commitments. 

 

When the server returned, the Jones man quickly ordered a Croque Madame, the Chantilly Waffles, the Eggs Cocotte, and some Flemish pancakes. As the energetic young man began turning away from the table, Veronica quickly stopped him. “He was only ordering for himself.” The server looked incredulously at Jughead for a moment. He just shrugged. 

 

A short while later, Jughead was blissfully powering his way through some of the most delicious waffles he’d tasted outside of Europe when he heard Veronica ask Betty, “So, how are things going with Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy?” 

 

Betty tensed up beside him so briefly that if they hadn’t nearly been touching he’d have missed it. His fork paused for a second on the way to his mouth as he listening more intently for her answer.

 

“Good?” she said cagily, her gaze lasered to her own omelet. 

 

“Surely you can manage better than ‘ _ Good _ ,’ B, since you’ve been dodging me for days now,” Veronica said archly.  

 

Jug watched out of the corner of his eye as his roommate unceremoniously shoved an unusually large bite of feta, egg, and roasted pepper into her mouth. Veronica raised a clearly unimpressed eyebrow at her friend’s delay tactic. Betty slowed her chewing to toddler speed to prove a point. 

 

Veronica pivoted her attention so abruptly to Jughead he almost choked on the bite of sandwich he’d just taken. “Well?” she said, infusing expectancy into the single word in a way that was truly awe-inspiring.

 

“Erm…” he stalled. Luckily, Archie and his impeccable timing saved him.

 

“Ronnie, I’m sure Jug doesn’t know any more about Betty’s boyfriend than you do,” he tried placating the intense woman beside him.

 

“I should hope he  _ does _ given that they’re living together. I mean, hopefully he at least knows TDD’s  _ name _ so that if something, God forbid, ever happened to her, the police would have something to go off.” The worked-up black haired woman pinioned him with a penetrating stare. 

 

“I’ve seen him around a few times,” Jughead hedged, “but from what I know of him, I’d say he cares a lot about your friend.” He chanced a glance out of the corner of his eye, but Betty’s gaze was still studiously trained on her plate. 

 

Archie beamed at Veronica as if his friend’s answer settled the matter. 

 

V gave Jug a hard look, brushing off Archie’s feeble peacekeeping efforts. “Well, I sure hope he does because my girl here doesn’t  _ do _ casual flings. So you tell him from me, Jughead, he hurts my B,  _ and I will redefine his understanding of pain _ .” 

 

Never, in all his life, had Jughead Jones felt his blood turn to ice as quickly as it did from Veronica’s threat. However, the longer he sat with her words, the angrier he started becoming at her suggestion that  _ he _ would somehow ever hurt Betts. Jughead was on the verge of giving Betty’s friend a serious piece of his mind when his mind suddenly went blank. Being as discreet as possible, he looked down only to confirm his suspicions: Betty was resting her delicate hand on his upper inner thigh, high enough up that she could easily tickle his balls if she simply extended her pinky. He cut a glance at her under the guise of giving Archie a “what-am-I-her-messenger?” look. The beguiling blonde was placidly chewing some bacon while saying something that could’ve been “That’s a little unnecessary,” not that he could tell with his suddenly sex-fuzzed brain. 

 

Betty leaned further across the table to grab another piece of bacon, and used the opportunity provided by her obscuring body to shift her hand to completely palm Jughead’s balls through his jeans. Her brazen teasing made him instantly hard. As Betty sat back unrepentantly, he grabbed his phone out of his pants pocket, thankful that he’d had the presence of mind to put it on silent before brunch. 

 

As Veronica gave him a disapproving look, he rolled his eyes at her reaction, saying gruffly,“Work stuff. Can’t wait.” He gingerly got up from the table and carefully wove his way to the front of the restaurant. The muggy late summer air did a little to reduce his abrupt ardor although he was still sporting a healthy reminder of her clandestine activities. Whipping open his texts, he brought up Betty’s name.

 

His fingers tap-tap-tapped dully against his phone screen as he urgently wrote out, ‘If this wasn’t your favorite restaurant, I’d be fucking you in the bathroom *right* now.’ 

 

He glanced through the restaurant’s glass store front and knew the minute she read his text. She appeared to make some gesture of apology, to which Veronica actually looked mildly guilty. Moments later, his phone lit up with her response: ‘You have no idea how wet your text just made me. I wish I could have you inside me now….’ 

 

His cock started throbbing. He took a split second to think over his next move before deciding to take a chance. ‘Take off your panties before I get back to the table and you can,’ he sent back. 

 

Her answer nearly caused him to buckle in the middle of the sidewalk: ‘A little presumptuous to assume I’m wearing any to begin with …😉’

 

Just as he was getting ready to return to their table and his apparently wanton lady, the blonde in question came flying out to the sidewalk on her phone. 

 

“Pol,” he heard her say, “Polly! Slow down. What do you mean you told mom I’m bringing my boyfriend to Riverdale for Labor Day?” 

 

He looked at her in veiled shock as she turned a desperate look his way trying to gauge his reaction. ‘Talk at home?’ he mouthed. She gave him a relieved nod as he went back into the restaurant. 

 

As he got closer to the table, he caught snippets of Archie’s conversation with Veronica. “Ronnie, was that wise?”

 

“What?” she said unapologetically. “She’d been dodging Polly too. It was only fair to let her sister know why once she got around to texting me.” 

 

“Maybe she had a reason for not telling her sister about her new boyfriend?” Archie said thoughtfully.

 

Jughead pulled up short at the ginger’s words as he finally reached the table. Before he had a chance to brood too much over the implications of his friend’s words, he felt a comforting hand resting delicately on the base of his spine. 

 

“Sorry for running out like that,” Betty said breathlessly. “My sister’s been trying to get ahold of me all morning. Thanks for that, by the way, V,” she added grimly. 

Veronica shrugged. “Your sister doesn’t make a point of texting me on the regular, B. Besides, I thought it might be  _ good _ for you to have another buffer between you  _ and your mother _ than just Polly.” 

 

Jughead could sense Betty’s irritation deflate in the face of her friend’s best intentions, a feeling that if he was being honest with himself, he could completely understand after his own limited exposure to Alice’s evil. 

 

The rest of the brunch went by uneventfully albeit with a less lighthearted vibe than it started out with as the four friends finished their food. 

 

****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

The mood between Jughead and Betty was surprisingly somber as they made their way back to Jones Street, each lost in their own troubling thoughts. 

 

As Betty slowly pushed the door to their apartment open, she was struck by the ridiculousness of their situation. She sighed. All of sudden she felt so  _ tired _ . Something that brought her as much happiness as being with Jughead did wasn’t supposed to make her feel so stressed out. She sighed again. 

 

Jughead’s arms snaked comfortingly around her waist as she felt the warmth from his chest against her back. His chin rested gently on the crown of her head. 

 

They stood like that for several minutes: Betty soaking in Jug’s presence as the young man holding her quietly inhaled the increasingly familiar scent of her shampoo. Finally, she starting silently crying. “I’m  _ so _ sorry, Juggie,” she said sadly, “I never meant for you to get ambushed like that.”

 

Jughead squeezed the blonde a little tighter. “I’d hardly say I was ‘ambushed,’ Betts,” he said with a hint of a smile.

 

The young woman sniffled. “Well, I know we haven’t really talked about what  _ this _ is, and then V and Polly started in on you being my boyfriend...And I mean, you didn’t mention anything to your friends about us last night, so I wasn’t sure…”

 

“Oh, Betts…” Jughead said soothingly as he turned her around in his arms to face him. He tenderly held her face in his hands, his thumbs lightly wiping away the silent tears from her cheeks. “I didn’t tell Toni and Pea and Fangs last night because they were being assholes, and I didn’t think that’s how  _ you’d _ want us to come out to people as a couple--as a means of defending a stupid joke from a couple drunk idiots.” 

 

Betty’s tears fell more freely. “Oh, Juggie!” she cried.

 

He softly kissed her forehead. “Betty, if I have my way, you’re going to be way more than my girlfriend at some point, but I gotta start somewhere,” he said with a smile in his voice.

 

Betty kissed Jughead deeply. “Let’s see if you feel the same way after you’ve been to Riverdale.”


	14. The Red Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty takes Jughead home to Riverdale...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First--A HUGE 'THANK YOU' to all you amazing people who have taken the time to go on this journey with me. You are wonderful! I can only hope you find my work worthy of your time. That being said, let me also extend an **EXTRA SPECIAL** thank you to each and every one of you who goes that additional step of leaving a comment/dropping a kudos/bookmarking/reblogging this story to share the love. I can't begin to tell you how incredibly inspiring it is to me to know so many of you are enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying getting to write it. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
> 
> Second, as always, this is un-beta'd so I take full responsibility for any and all errors.
> 
> Third, I'm figuring out this Tumblr thing and occasionally post sneak peeks? Come find me @sunshinebunnie if you're curious.
> 
> Finally--I apologize in advance for the angst. I *PROMISE* Chapter 15 will make up for it!

Jughead absentmindedly twirled the ends of Betty’s ponytail around his fingers as they stood on the Metro-North platform at Grand Central Station waiting on their delayed train. He tapped his toe impatiently, mindful not to scuff up Betty’s overnight bag with his fidgeting as he watched the digital track clock stare at him with mocking orange LED lights. “If we’d  _ just _ taken my bike…” the young man started to whine. Betty just reached up and patted his arm, “I know, we’d already be halfway there.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

When he’d initially agreed to Betty’s sister’s invitation to join them for Labor Day, he hadn’t given too much thought to the logistics of how they’d get to Riverdale. It was only when Betty had texted him on her way home from work that Wednesday to let him know she’d stopped to pick up their tickets that he started to question their plans. She’d picked up on the second ring. “Tickets?” he’d asked without preamble. Her tinkling laughter was muddled by the pervasive background noise at Grand Central. “Metro-North, Jug!” she’d replied brightly. “We’ll take the train to the end of the Harlem line, then Polly will pick us up and drive us the last forty minutes.” Jug was gobsmacked. Before he had a chance to utter anything about more efficient options, Betty had already hung up on him with a cheery “Be home soon!”

 

While he’d waited for her to return, he looked up the MTA/Metro-North schedule on the hope he was mistaken as to how long the train would take. He wasn’t. As he suspected, the train portion of their trip alone involved two hours and forty minutes and a train change just to get to Polly. 

 

He waited until they were cuddling on their couch after dinner to bring up his idea. “So I was thinking, Betts,” he started in, “it seems like the train is kind of complicated. Why don’t we just take my bike instead?” She’d snuggled closer to him, stifling a yawn as she’d replied, “That’s a nice thought, Jug, but I like the train.” He groaned a little on the inside. “But think of how much more  _ freedom _ we’ll have, Betty…” he tried dangling. The sleepy blonde gave him a small smile. “I’ve told you, Juggie, Riverdale isn’t that big a place. Besides, my car is still at my parents’ house, remember?” He was about to try one last argument when he realized Betty started mumbling in a tired slur, “‘Sides th’s we’ken’s gonna be stres’fil ‘nuff fer m’ wi’out m’ mom seein’ your bike.” Whatever he was going to say died on his lips as his angel quietly began snoring against his chest. While he could not give less of a rat’s ass about whether Betty’s mom “approved” of him, he cared  _ very _ much about doing whatever he could not to needlessly antagonize the woman he was falling increasingly more in love with.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Betty gently squeezed his side. “You know, you never  _ did _ tell me why you don’t like trains, Jug,” she said drawing his attention away from his restless squirming. He gave her a warm smirk as he turned her around to face him. “I never said anything about not liking  _ trains _ , Betts.” His voice got deeper, “I take a lot of issue with being cornered in hostile territory without a viable escape plan though.” She gave him a deep kiss that he felt himself melting into. When she finally pulled away, she shot him a cheeky grin before saying, “I guess you’re lucky that I’ll be there to protect you.” Jughead was about to point out that part of why he was joining her in Riverdale for the long weekend was to protect  _ her _ , but before he had a chance to get the thought out their train finally pulled sluggishly up to the platform. 

 

As they’d boarded the train, he was surprised by how crowded it was. Growing up first in the City, and later for a time in Ohio, he rarely thought of Upstate New York as a vacation destination if it wasn’t snowing. When he’d mentioned as much to his companion, she’d given him an indulgent look before gently mentioning how the Berkshires and the Catskills had traditionally been summer getaways for many families living in New York City once upon a time. Before he had a chance to consider the implications, he’d blurted out, “Like in  _ Dirty Dancing _ !” His brain caught up to his mouth just in time to catch Betty standing stock still in the middle of the car aisle, gaping at him like a decorative bass. He focused his attention on a point just past her shoulder as he grumbled, “It was popular for the Two-Dollar Tuesday Double Feature Matinee when I was a kid, ok?” Betty’s face split into a megawatt grin as she did her best to cha-cha further up the aisle toward a pair of unclaimed seats. Jughead rolled his eyes, a reluctant smile plastering itself on his face in response to his girlfriend’s antics. 

 

Settling into the pair of seats Betty commandeered, the young man was struck by what an incongruous duo they made. Despite her youthful looks, Betty was the epitome of a hard-charging business woman, while he’d be lucky if he got mistaken for an erudite graduate student. She, in her summer business-casual sleeveless dress, buried in wires as she plugged her laptop into an available outlet then plugged her phone into one of her computer’s USB ports to charge as she tethered the two devices together so she could work remotely. He, on the other hand, had his oversized headphones pulled comfortably over his beanie as he took out his beat-up copy of  _ In Cold Blood _ to reread it for the umpteenth time. He sank further into his seat with a smile and a shake of his head amused by one of the pleasanter oddities of his life. 

 

The Jones man was so engrossed in his book, he didn’t realize they’d arrived at the Southeast station and needed to change trains until he saw Betty packing away her mobile work station. For as crowded as the train had been when they boarded in Manhattan, it looked like it was going to be practically a ghost train for the last forty minutes up to Wassaic as more and more people dispersed from the platform, rather than waiting around for the connection north. Despite the intolerably smothering mugginess of the late August heat in the City, now that they were starting to get into Upstate New York, the evening air was beginning to take on a noticeable nippiness. A fact Jughead found himself all too aware of as he watched Betty fidget on the platform, goosebumps breaking out all over her arms, as she tried to keep herself warm until their next train showed up. After watching her try to keep warm by rubbing her arms and shimmying her hips while bouncing on her toes for a couple minutes, he silently unpacked his leather jacket from his rucksack and draped it around her petite shoulders. Even though it didn’t have the benefit of his transferred body heat, the jacket still provided her a tangible barrier against the chilliness in the air. For that, she gave him a grateful smile. Betty found herself even more appreciative of Jughead’s thoughtful gesture as the scheduled four minute wait bled into seven minutes, which crept into a thirteen minute delay before the train slowly hissed to a stop at the platform. 

 

As the doors to the train cars opened, Jughead expected Betty to rush aboard, if only to escape the cooler outdoor air. Instead, she surprised him by hanging back, waiting to see which cars the handful of other passengers migrated towards before picking a train car not only devoid of other people, but that was separated from any other passengers by at least one other empty rail car. As the black-haired young man dutifully trailed after her toward her preferred train car, he caught snippets of Betty singing under her breath that sounded like “How do you call your lover boy?..Oh, lover boy...And if he doesn’t answer?....Oh, _lover_ _boy_.” He jogged close enough to her so that he could wrap his arm around her waist. “Are you singing what I think you are, Betts?” he asked with a grin. She playfully elbowed him in the ribs. “I’ve had that stuck in my head since Grand Central. You’d have heard me humming it on the train earlier if you didn’t have your headphones on,” she said sticking her tongue out at him. Just as he leaned down to capture her mouth with his, she spun away from him like Baby and cheekily backed up in to the train car. He shook his head with a laugh before following her into the interior of the car. 

 

Once they were settled into their new set of seats, Betty checked her phone for any messages from Polly. Luckily, her phone was blissfully notification-free. “Are you going to let her know we’re delayed?” Jug asked when he saw her looking at her phone. Betty shook her head. “Not unless we get delayed here longer. Polly would’ve already had to have left ten minutes ago just to meet our train on time, so it won’t be too big of a deal for her to wait.”  Jughead just nodded as the train suddenly gave a lurch forward, while the woman beside him gave him a cryptic smile. 

 

As the train rumbled on, Betty curled up against the Jones man’s side like she did so frequently at home. However, to his surprise, the beguiling blonde woman didn’t appear to be settling in to go to sleep, rather he found that she was tracing her hand over and around his defined pecs, lightly dragging her perfectly manicured fingernails over his erect nipples. As he gazed down at her profile from his vantage point above her, he could see her gnawing aggressively on her bottom lip. His cock began to swell at the thought of what he’d be doing to her at that moment if they were back in their apartment.

 

“Something on your mind, Betts?” his voice gravelly from arousal.

 

“Mmmm,” she whimpered toying with his nipple through his shirt. 

 

“Mmmm?” he teased back, sucking air through his teeth as she dragged her nails particularly forcefully over his sensitive nub.

 

Betty rubbed her face against his chest like a cat. “I’ve been thinking about how I won’t be able to feel you inside me all weekend, and it’s been making my pussy  _ throb _ since before we left New York.” 

 

His semi-erect cock instantly hardened to diamond-cutting proportions. “Maybe a little temporary celibacy would do us good…” he suggested facetiously. 

 

The woman draped across his chest deliberately dropped her delicate hand to the impressive bulge of his crotch and meaningfully squeezed him through the denim confines of his pants. “We’ve got at least ten minutes before the conductor works his way all the way back here, and there’s a bathroom in this car…” her voice drifted off suggestively.

 

“Celibacy is overrated anyway,” he quickly growled. 

 

Despite the emptiness of the train car, Betty still urged them to be discreet. Hastily, she untangled herself from her boyfriend and sauntered over to the onboard bathroom, checking once to see if the conductor was closer than she figured. Satisfied her calculations were correct, she slipped inside. Once he heard the distinctive click-slam of the bathroom door sliding shut, Jughead got up and gave their bags a quick perusal to ensure none of their electronics were hanging out. Wanting to be safe than sorry, he grabbed a spare condom from his bag, uncertain as to whether he still had any tucked away in his jacket with as active as they’d been recently. Lightly jogging down the aisle, he reached the bathroom in seconds then did a brief perimeter check like Betty before slipping inside the unlocked door. 

 

Jughead snapped the deadbolt shut on the door locking them in the notably large space. Knowing time was not on their side was getting him turned on in a way he’d never imagined as he stalked over to where his blonde temptress was leaning against a small aluminum sink. Her crystalline green eyes were hooded with lust as she stared him down, naked hunger radiating off her in waves. He pulled her over to him by the open lapel of his leather jacket. Jug hovered his mouth over hers with frustrating closeness, never quite closing the distance between them, until Betty eventually snapped, snagging his lower lip in her teeth and tugging on it with an animalistic snarl. The sharp, unexpected sting made his cock twitch.

 

Smashing their mouths together, he kissed her with a violent passion. Their teeth clicked against each other over and over as they both fought to control the pace of their kisses. Without warning, Jughead spun Betty around so her hands were left to grip the sink in front of her as he darkly held her gaze in the narrow bathroom mirror. Tugging on his jacket, he lowered the collar enough so he could huff in the alluring clean scent of her skin moments before he settled his teeth over the straining corded muscles of her neck and bit down hard. Her reaction was instantaneous as she demanded, “Fuck me  _ right now _ , Juggie.” 

 

He shoved the extra condom into Betty’s hand as he yanked his jeans open, shoving his boxers and pants down his thighs only far enough to ensure the teeth of his zipper wouldn’t snag on her delicate skin as he rutted against her. Her eager hands handed him the unwrapped prophylactic as his engorged cock sprang free, bobbing promisingly against the taut globes of her ass. As soon as he finished rolling on the latex sheath, he thrust into Betty’s dripping pussy without warning, barely taking a second to rip her flimsy thong to the side. Jug grinned wolfishly as he watched Betty in the mirror, her eyes rolling toward the back of her head as he stuffed her needy cunt full with his cock. He loomed over her shoulder, his hips slapping grotesquely against her, as he started whispering all of his filthy thoughts in her ear. “God, you’re such a dirty little nympho for me, Betts. Can’t even go a few hours without having me pounding into your tight pussy, letting me use your cunt for my own dark purposes.” Betty grunted as she struggled to keep up with his punishing pace. Jug hissed as she clenched the walls of her slick cunt tightly around him. “Do you have any idea how hard you got me when you suggested you needed me to take you here on the train? Because thinking of having to wait until the end of the weekend to get fucked was making you too horny?”

 

Betty clawed at his arm as she struggled to keep quiet. “Rub your clit hard and fast for me like a good little slut, Betts. I wanna see you cum, knowing we could get caught any minute, and it’d all be because your greedy snatch just needs to be  _ fucked _ over  _ and over and over _ until you can’t move.” She whimpered plaintively as she fought to snake her hand between her thighs. The illicitness of what they were doing combined with the depraved things coming out of her boyfriend’s mouth were getting her so aroused, she was having difficulty generating enough friction on her clit to bring on her orgasm. “ _ Pleeease _ , baby,” she whined as quietly as she could manage. “I need to get off for you so badly. My pussy is throbbing so much. I’m  _ too _ wet, Juggie,” she cried. “ _ Help me. I need you to fuck me harder.”  _

 

His knees nearly buckled at her plea. He wasn’t inexperienced, but never in his life had he gotten a woman  _ so _ aroused that it was almost  _ too _ difficult for her to cum. The fingers on his left hand dug into her naked hip as he sped up his frenzied thrusts. Simultaneously, he pulled her just far enough back from the sink that he could shove his right hand between her sticky thighs, carelessly moving her ineffective fingers out of his way. The calloused pads of his index and middle fingers slipped all over her juicy clit, posing much the same problem for him as it had for her. “God, baby,” he growled possessively, “I can’t believe how wet you are for me right now. You’re always so eager to take my cock.” Betty just started babbling in response. “ _ Only for you, Juggie.  _ God, I just need to feel you inside me  _ all the time.  _ I’m always so fucking wet for you, Jug. You’ve turned me into such a dirty little slut who just needs to be  _ railed _ 24/7. I can never get enough of your cock or your tongue or your hands.” Jughead’s cock ached from his efforts to hold off his orgasm until she came. He rubbed her clit with increasingly aggressive force. “ _ Oh yeah, Jug. Just like that! _ ” Betty suddenly keened in his ear. 

 

Jug brought his eyes up to the mirror and grinned at the perfectly debauched image Betty presented: eyes closed in concentration, head thrashing from side to side, fingers slick from her arousal shoved in her mouth trying to drown out her cries of hideous ecstasy. He heard her abruptly wail “ _ Juggie!”  _ seconds before he felt her cunt clamp down on his cock with an uncompromising vise grip. His orgasm was instantaneous. 

 

They continued rocking against each other for several minutes as their bodies slowly slipped down from their orgasmic highs. “ _ Thank you, baby _ ,” Betty said with the most self-satisfied voice Jughead had ever heard, “That was hands down the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” The Jones man felt his ego swell about four times larger. “Same here,” he said a moment later. “God, Betts, I don’t know what it is about you, but I just want you all the time. I can’t stop myself. I’ll take you wherever, whenever like a fucking animal.” Her scarred palm caressed the five o’clock shadow beginning to form on his cheek. “You can have me any way you want, Jug.” He gently nipped at the fleshy heel of her palm as he said, “Promises, promises, Betts,” with such a dramatic sigh, she burst out laughing as she rolled her eyes at him. 

 

Jughead felt himself slip out of Betty, and he quickly grabbed the base of the condom with one hand. Using his right hand, he carefully moved her thong back into place, impishly stroking her clothed pussy for a brief second before he stepped away from her to finish cleaning himself up. 

 

He kissed her on the side of the head. “Meet you at our seats?” he said with a smile. She gave him an enthusiastic nod as she planted a thorough kiss on his lips. 

 

By the time Betty rejoined him at their seats, he was comfortably resettled and debating whether to dive back into Truman Capote. When the conductor eventually worked his way back to them seven minutes later, no one would’ve suspected them of fucking like bunnies less than a half an hour before. 

 

****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Betty wasn’t sure what had done a better job of keeping her awake until they got to Wassaic: the large coffee from the Grand Central concourse she’d chugged before they’d headed down to the platform, or her roiling unease over returning back to Riverdale for the first time in months. The more generous part of her wanted to believe it was just the coffee, but the realist in her put the odds at about even. If there was one saving grace to the whole trip, it was that her sister had leapt at the chance to pick them up from the train station when they arrived, skillfully arguing that it would be the only chance she and Betty had to really get in some quality sister bonding time without the twins. In a rare instance of motherly understanding, Alice had caved.

 

Ever since Jug had agreed to come to Riverdale with her, Betty had been sprinkling facts about her family and where she grew up into their conversations so as not to overwhelm him with one massive data dump. There were the big things like, “Don’t  _ ever _ mention Charles in my mom’s presence,” and “Try not to bring up Polly’s husband, JJ. He’s on his third deployment and it’s been extra rough on her.” Then there were the things she was looking forward to sharing with him like how “Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe has the  _ best _ hamburgers you’ve ever tasted!” or “There was a hidden waterfall in Fox Forrest that would make him think he was on another planet.” Some of what she told him was just practical: “The front door automatically relocks whenever it’s closed, so if you don’t have a key make sure to prop it open if you’re stepping out on the porch for a cigarette,” and “Kevin’s dad is the local Sheriff, so I’ll have to stop by the station to give him an update at some point while we’re in town.” 

 

Then, there were the things she wanted to tell him, but didn’t. Like how it was a huge deal to her that he didn’t even have to think before saying “yes” to coming home with her. That he was the first true boyfriend--her handful of high school boyfriends didn’t count--that she’d introduced to her family. That she was pretty sure she was falling in love with him. 

 

When the conductor came over the PA system to announce they’d be arriving at Wassaic in ten minutes, Betty texted Polly to let her know. As the reality of what was about to happen settled over her, she started vibrating with nervous energy, to the point that she eventually forced herself to stand up and pace the aisle. Glancing at Jughead periodically, she caught an amused grin hovering at the corner of his mouth. For all his apparently suppressed mirth though, when she looked into his eyes, she saw nothing but his concern for her and the comforting thought he projected that he wouldn’t abandon her. 

 

It hadn’t been hard to find Polly once they’d disembarked the train, her white minivan one of only about six cars left in the parking lot now that it was almost 9:30 at night. As they’d gotten closer to the car, Polly abruptly jumped out of the driver’s seat to come sprinting at her sister, wrapping her up in an impossibly tight hug. “BETTY!” she squealed, drag-spinning her in a circle as her momentum from running transferred into the younger woman. Betty gripped her sister’s back tightly as she hugged her just as fiercely. Jughead stayed off to the side, just outside the field of Polly’s illuminated headlights, feeling weirdly intrusive of such an emotional reunion between the two women. The minutes continued to tick by until finally the sisters separated from one another. Turning to him with glistening eyes, his girlfriend proudly said, “Pol, I’d like to formally introduce you to my boyfriend. Jug, this is my sister, Polly. Polly, Jughead.” He was just preparing to extend his hand for a handshake when he suddenly found himself caught up in a hug nearly as fierce as the one he’d finished observing. “Oh,” he said awkwardly, “I didn’t realize you were a hugger,” as he struggled to figure out if he should hug her back, or if it’d be rude if he tried to pull himself back from her embrace. 

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Polly eventually said to him as she let him go. “You just don’t know how  _ excited _ I am to meet you.” She gave him a blinding smile, and he knew in that instant that he would’ve recognized the relationship with Betty no matter where he met her. Oddly enough, the thought made him feel instantly more relaxed. 

 

They quickly piled into Polly’s vehicle: Betty riding shotgun, and Jug squeezing in between two booster seats in the row behind them. As Polly pulled out of the parking lot and on to the road heading back to Riverdale, she began peppering them both with questions. Was Jughead really his name? Did Betty love working for Conde Nast? What did he think of Betty living with a male roommate? How was Kevin doing? Had she heard about Chic?

 

Her questions came in such rapid fire succession that it took them a couple seconds to catch up to her so that they could actually respond. As to his name, Jughead explained, “Yes. It might not be what’s on my birth certificate, but it’s what I answer to.” He watched the ends of Polly’s bobbed hair brush her shoulders as she nodded in understanding while keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the road in front of them. “You know Mom’s going to have a conniption fit when you tell her what his name is,” Polly eventually said to her sister. Betty sighed heavily, “I know.” Although it killed him to do anything to cater to Alice Cooper’s sensibilities, he knew that letting her use his given name for the weekend would be in furtherance of a noble cause if it saved his girlfriend a little unnecessary stress. “It’s actually Forsythe,” he piped up quietly from behind them. He watched as Polly’s eyebrows nearly reached her headband. She grinned. “Oh she’s going to  _ love _ that! It’s precisely the type of hoity-toity thing that’s right up her alley.” Betty turned in her seat so that she was better able to see him before mouthing an extremely grateful “Thank you!” at him. He smiled at her, trying to project all of his love for her into that one look. 

 

The next several minutes were filled with Betty telling her sister all about her work, and how she was surprised by how much she loved working with the writers from  _ Teen Vogue _ , but that the staff at  _ Architectural Digest _ were a nightmare. “Is it at all like  _ The Devil Wears Prada _ ?” her sister asked thoughtfully. The younger blonde just shook her head. “Infinitely fewer social functions,” she said with a smile. “Plus I don’t work with any one publication enough for its editor-in-chief to shit on me like that,” she added with a laugh. Polly let out such a wistful sigh, her sister asked, “Have you had a chance to look into getting your Associate’s like we talked about?” Polly didn’t say anything for a long time, just staring pensively at the road, half on alert for the sudden appearance of deer. Eventually, she shook her head. “Maybe once Juniper and Dagwood are a little older…” she said drifting off quietly. Betty immediately jumped in. “Of course, Pol! There’s plenty of time to get it. There’s no rush…” 

 

A pall started settling over the car. In a move that even surprised him, Jughead found himself saying, “Betts, did you tell your sister about Kevin and Joaquin moving in together” The beginnings of Polly’s morbid mood lifted instantly as her social butterfly instincts kicked into high alert. Betty shot him a grateful look around the headrest of her seat. He just nodded, giving her a small smile in return. 

 

“Seriously?!” Polly said with such an excited shriek that Jug nearly regretted saying anything.

 

“Yeah. That’s actually how I found my new place. Kevin refused to leave his apartment when Joaquin suggested living together, so I took over his boyfriend’s lease.” Betty paused for a second to debate if it was really the best time to mention anything. ‘It’ll come up eventually, Cooper,’ she mentally chided herself. Taking a steadying breath, she added, “That’s actually how I met Jug.  _ He _ was the roommate Joaquin was moving out on.” 

 

Betty was prepared for a lot of possible reactions from her sister—eerie quiet was not one of them. Polly drove in silence for a few more minutes before slowing the car to a crawl, eventually coming to a stop on the shoulder of the road. Throwing the car into park and turning on her hazard lights, she turned the full force of her penetrating stare on her sister before whispering, “Veronica didn’t say anything…”

 

“She doesn’t know  _ he’s  _ Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy,” Betty said mutedly, “I haven’t really had a chance to bring it up.”

 

Polly gave her sister a decidedly harder look. “ _ You _ didn’t say anything  _ either _ .”

 

Betty inhaled sharply through her nose. “ _ You _ already had everything worked out with Mom for him to come with me. What was I supposed to say, Pol?  _ Hey, you know that boyfriend you’re so excited I have? Well, we happen to live together and Mom has already decided I must be using succubus wiles to secure my housing anyway, so why don’t you just go ahead and tell her she was right all along? _ ” 

 

Polly deflated a little. “I just wish you would’ve told me. I remember when there was a time you would’ve told me stuff like that.” 

 

Her younger sister reached for her hand. “Well, I’m telling you  _ now _ , Pol. The only three people in the world who know that information are all in this car.” 

 

The older Cooper beamed. Suddenly, she turned on the young man in the backseat attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible. “What’re your intentions toward my baby sister?” she demanded in her firmest “mom” voice.

 

Jughead gaped, caught off guard by her change in tactics. His girlfriend just groaned, “ _ Pollllllllllll _ …..”

 

Polly ignored her in favor of looking at Jug expectantly.

 

“Well?” she prompted when he remained silent. 

 

Although he knew, instinctively, that Polly only had Betty’s best interests at heart, he couldn’t stop his hackles from rising over being cornered into admitting something he’d only danced around talking about with the woman in question. He hedged. “Betty knows how I feel about her.” 

 

Polly arched an eyebrow at him in such a way that he swore he was suddenly looking at an older version of Betty. “You’re about to meet Alice Cooper, so I really hope to God she does.” 

 

As Polly put the car back into drive, Jug couldn’t shake the feeling that Polly’s words were an ominous omen of things to come. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

When they finally turned on to Elm Street, it was nearly 10:30, and every light was on at the Cooper house. 

 

“Mom actually waited up?” Betty said surprised.

 

“Doubtful,” Polly said with a suppressed yawn, “but there’s a good chance Dad’s probably puttering around in the basement.” 

 

Jughead grabbed his and Betty’s bags as Betty and Polly walked up to the front door together. Polly dug out her keys and unlocked the red door. The first thing the Jones man noticed when he stepped in the front hall was the smell of fresh peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. Looking around, he finally spotted the source of the mouthwatering smell: a heaping plate of cookies on a coffee table in the living room, next to a pair of pillows and some folded up blankets. He turned to the Cooper sisters with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t think our mom was actually going to let you stay in Betty’s room, did you?” Polly said with a sleepy laugh. Betty just gave him a one shouldered shrug as she continued side-hugging her sister. Jughead was suddenly overcome with much greater appreciation for the desperate immediateness of Betty’s urges on the train. “Well,” he started, looking for an upside to his situation, “at least I get cookies out of it.” His girlfriend’s quiet laughter washed over him like a gentle rain. 

 

Polly was beginning to nod off where she stood when her baby sister finally suggested she head on up to bed. The older Cooper simply bobbed her head in mute agreement. “I’ll come back down for our bags once I get her settled in upstairs,” Betty told Jughead softly. He gave her the best smile he could manage with two-thirds of a cookie shoved in his mouth.

 

While Betty got Polly off to bed, Jughead made up the couch—a faster process than he imagined after checking under one of the cushions only to discover it was not in fact a sofa bed. He heard a noise behind him and turned expecting to see his favorite blonde. Instead, he found himself looking at a slightly paunchy man who was eyeing up Jughead’s plate of cookies. “Alice doesn’t bake anymore unless the girls come home,” the older man said vaguely in Jug’s general direction, “Says  _ I’m _ supposed to be on a diet.” Jughead recognized the familiar longing for something forbidden lacing the man’s voice. He waved the plate of cookies invitingly. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. Betty’s dad laughed—a surprisingly hearty sound although it held an edge of something else underneath. “I appreciate the offer. Alice is a bloodhound though. I wouldn’t even have the cookie in my mouth before she’d probably be down here ripping it out of my hand.” He laughed again like he expected Jughead to understand the joke. The younger man just looked at him quizzically as he bit into another cookie. 

 

Betty’s dad’s attention was finally brought to the Jones man’s face as he followed the path of the cookie longingly with his eyes. Realization dawned on him. “Hal Cooper,” he said sticking out his hand over the back of the couch. Jughead shifted the plate of cookies around in his arms before grasping the older man’s hand firmly. “Mr. Cooper.” He hesitated for a moment, stopping just before he introduced himself to Betty’s dad as Jughead. 

 

“Dad!” Betty’s excited voice rang out through the living room. “I see you’ve met my boyfriend, Jughead,” she added with a smile. Hal gave the young man a wry look before he said to his daughter, “Oh, your mother’s going to  _ love _ that.” Jughead shrugged a shoulder. “Well, when my mom’s mad, she calls me Forsythe,” he added with a smirk. Mr. Cooper broke out in a wide grin. “Your mother will definitely approve of ‘Forsythe,’” he said, giving his daughter a knowing look. Betty gave him a sarcastic eye roll while coming to stand next to Jug. With one last longing look at the young man’s plate of cookies, Betty’s dad bid the two of them good night and disappeared out of the living room. 

 

Jughead wrapped his arms around Betty’s shoulders as he pressed his lips to the side of her head. Betty sagged against him, the lateness of the hour finally starting to catch up to her now that her earlier caffeine boost had finally worn off. As her body pinned itself against him with her deadweight, he squeezed his arms around her a little tighter. He could tell she was beginning to nod off by the slow evening out of her breathing. “Betts?” he said gently. When she didn’t react, he said her name again, only slightly louder than the first time. She jerked her head without warning as she woke up from her micro-nap causing him to yelp a little as her skull made contact with his nose. “Oh my God, Juggie, I’m so sorry!” Betty cried, turning about in his arms to better inspect any potential damage she might have inflicted on him. He held her face with his hands and gave her an eskimo kiss to allay her fears about hurting him. 

 

Sensing it might be his last opportunity to ask before they got home, Jughead asked, “Betts, why did you insist on introducing me to your mom by my first name when you’ve just been introducing me normally to the rest of your family?”

 

Betty sighed. She understood where he was coming from. She’d made it out to seem like introducing him to her family as “Jughead” was going to be a huge deal breaker, but then she’d told both her sister and her dad his nickname. It was hardly consistent behavior. Resting her head against his chest, she listened to the rhythmic beating of his heart for several long seconds before she finally answered him. “It’s complicated?” she hedged.

 

“That’s a bullshit Facebook relationship status,” Jughead replied dryly, refusing to let her off the hook quite that easily.

She sighed again, this time pulling a little bit out of his embrace. “Polly and I were thick as thieves when we were younger. I could always count on her to serve as a buffer between me and our mom. Mom always had high expectations for all of us, but, I dunno, Polly just always seemed to do the best job of ignoring her garbage and doing whatever the hell she wanted. We aren’t quite as close any more as we used to be growing up, but I knew I could still count on her to not buy into our mom’s snobby biases about your name.”

 

Jughead nodded. He waited a beat for her to continue, finally prompting her “And your dad?” when it seemed like she was getting ready to drift off again. Betty gnawed on her lip as she thought of the best way to explain it. “Growing up, me, Polly and Charles were always the spitting image of our mom. Same general shade of blonde hair, same bone structure, similar blue eyes, you name it. But  _ personality-wise _ ? I’ve always been more like my dad. Same sense of humor, similar interests--he’s how I got into classic cars--similar ways of ‘managing’ my mom. He and I both know life just runs more smoothly when my mom gets her way, but that’s not to say that we aren’t going to be a little subversive on the downlow. That’s why I was pretty confident my dad wasn’t going to make a big deal over your name being Jughead, especially not once he knew your ‘real’ name,” she tried explaining. The young woman shrugged. “I don’t even know if any of that even makes any sense.” He pulled her back into his arms. “It makes as much sense as it needs to, Betts,” he said comfortingly. Even without seeing her face, he knew she smiled at his words from the way he felt her lips curve up against his chest. 

 

Running his hand soothingly over her back, he asked, “You want help bringing the bags up to your room?” Betty nuzzled against him. “Tempting. Very tempting, but no, I think I’ll be ok. We both pack pretty efficiently,” she said with a small yawn. 

 

“I guess I’ll just see you in the morning then,” Jug said, making no moves to disentangle himself from her. 

 

Betty gave a reluctant mewl, but pulled away from his radiating warmth all the same. “Night, Juggie.”

 

“G’night, Betts,” he said warmly, but with a tinge of sadness as this marked only the second night since they’d begun fooling around that they hadn’t slept in the same bed. Jughead watched as his girlfriend walked out of the living room only pausing briefly to grab their two bags from where he’d left them in the hallway before heading up the stairs. He shoved another cookie in his mouth before laying down on the couch to play a mind-numbing game on his phone until his swirling thoughts quieted enough for him to fall asleep. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When Jughead awoke, he found himself faced with two problems. First, it was 5:45 a.m. Given his natural night owl proclivities along with the fact that he hadn’t gotten to sleep until after 1 because his brain kept repeating the entire previous day on a loop for him  _ Groundhog Day _ -style, he found no justifiable earthly reason for him to be awake at such an unholy hour. His second problem, however, was a much more complicated issue for him to address. After nearly two weeks of Betty’s morning suck-and-fuck routine, Jughead’s body had become accustomed to being “ready for service” first thing when he awoke. Unfortunately, unlike at home where Betty would be putting his morning wood to good use, sporting a raging erection in the middle of his girlfriend’s parents’ living room with no real way of dealing with it other than trying to  _ will _ it away was less than ideal. He kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he tried imagining  _ anything _ that he wouldn’t remotely associate with Betty. It was far more difficult than he’d thought it would be. Thinking about Jellybean and Toledo reminded him of coming back from his trip to check on his sister after her car accident only to wind up jointly masturbating with Betty. Boxing made him think about talking to Sweet Pea and realizing the depths of his feelings for Betty. Even thinking about Toni’s generally mood-killing girlfriend got him thinking about Cheryl’s photography shoot and all the lingerie he’d give his left arm to see Betty wearing. He groaned under his breath. 

 

Reaching above his head, he grabbed his phone from where he’d perched it on the arm of the couch. He opened up his ever expanding text chain to his personal succubus. ‘Any chance of a repeat bathroom performance this morning…?’ he texted hopefully. 

 

A few minutes later, his phone lit up with her reply. ‘Unless my mom died in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t count on it. 😢’ 

 

He was a little petulant as he tapped out, ‘For the first time in my life, I understand why Sweet Pea and Archie complain about morning wood.’

 

There was a suspiciously long delay before Betty finally responded, ‘How hard *are* you this morning, Juggie?’

 

Followed a moment later by, ‘I woke up *so fucking wet*….’

 

He sat up and hung his head between his knees. His incredibly sexy girlfriend was horny and within 100 feet of him and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. It was his own personal version of hell. 

 

Even though he already knew the answer, he felt compelled to ask anyway. ‘Are you touching yourself this morning, thinking about how much you’d rather have my cock inside you?’

 

A minute ticked by, then another. Eventually the blue bubbles popped up signaling her reply. His eyes widened before he quickly shielded his phone with his chest. Surreptitiously, he glanced at his phone again. Two photos stared at him. The first photo was a picture of Betty’s glistening fingers resting on her perfectly bare pussy. The second was a kind of selfie where the only visible part of Betty’s face was her mouth clearly sucking her arousal off her delicate fingers. 

 

His fingers flew across his phone’s keyboard. ‘Keep it up, Cooper, and I don’t care what your mom might do, but I’ll fuck you senseless RIGHT NOW.’ 

 

Jughead was still staring intently at his phone, waiting on his girlfriend’s response, when he sensed eyes boring a hole in his back. Turning slowly, he found himself suddenly facing an older honey-wheat blonde woman, looking surprisingly elegant given the early hour. She gave him a curious smile before saying conversationally, “Good, you’re awake. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Alice paused for a moment before adding, “Come. Have some breakfast,” as she turned to head back toward the kitchen. 

 

Keeping one blanket wrapped around him as if he was cold, Jughead shuffled toward the kitchen. Once he caught sight of Betty’s mom again, he shifted his weight from foot to foot like he needed to pee as he asked where the bathroom was. Alice gave a little huff as she said, “I see Elizabeth hasn’t become any better at being a hostess since she left home,” before pointing the young man in the direction of the downstairs bathroom. He gave her a grateful nod as he headed off in the direction she pointed. Jug draped the blanket on a side table in the hall next to the bathroom before he shut himself in the small water closet. Opening the jeans he’d unintentionally slept in, he gripped his still rock hard erection in his hand, closing his eyes at the much needed pressure. Thinking about the photos Betty had sent him shortly before, he ran his hand roughly over his cock as he sought to force out his orgasm as quickly and quietly as he could manage. Imagining Betty cumming around her fingers, silently screaming his name, finally pushed him over the edge, hot ropes of sticky cum getting caught in the basket of his fingers. He quickly cleaned himself up and finished using the bathroom before heading back out to the kitchen. Luckily, it appeared that Betty’s mom was none the wiser about what he’d done in the bathroom. 

 

There were two very different place settings laid out on the table. At the head of the table, Alice sat primly in front of a gleaming white plate with a poached egg on a piece of toast, a small handful of granola, seven blueberries, and a large, steaming cup of coffee. Catty corner to Alice was the complete opposite of her severe restraint. His ostensible place had three pieces of buttered whole wheat toast, a massive pile of scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese sprinkled on top, a heaping helping of home fries, some fried onion, six sausage links, a large glass of orange juice, a banana, and an equally large cup of coffee. As he took a deep whiff of the mouthwatering smells from the kitchen, his stomach rumbled loudly. 

 

Alice didn’t even look at him as she said, “Come. Sit.” Listening to her order him around like a dog set his teeth on edge, but his hunger stopped him from saying anything stupid, lest the mountains of food disappear. Jughead sauntered over to the table, refusing to give Betty’s mom the satisfaction of crumbling before her imperious attitude. Before sitting down, he extended his hand across the table, saying “You must be Betty’s mom. I’m Forsythe.” 

 

The older woman didn’t bother getting up as she extended her own hand. “Alice Cooper, Forsythe…?”

 

Realizing Betty wasn’t kidding about her mom being in investigative reporter mode all the time, he reluctantly added “Jones. Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third.” 

 

If he wasn’t already familiar with Betty’s smile, the megawatt glow radiating off Alice at hearing his full name would’ve blinded him for certain. He sat down with a mild grimace and started tucking into his food. Betty’s mom continued observing him like an animal at the zoo as she ate her cooling egg. Although he kept his head down while he shoveled Alice’s delicious breakfast in his mouth, he was hyper aware of every little move the older woman made. That was why he wasn’t completely caught off guard when she quietly put her fork down and said, “So how long has my daughter been fucking you?” 

 

Jughead swallowed with deliberate slowness. He knew what Alice was doing—being purposefully provocative to catch her target off guard, luring them into blurting out something truthful simply because they didn’t have time to manufacture a lie. Although the  _ subject  _ of her question caught him by surprise, the question itself didn’t; therefore, he already had an advantage. He took a sip of coffee for good measure so Alice was under no illusions that he knew what she was doing. When he finally did speak, he spoke slowly and made sure to enunciate each word with extra specific clarity. “Betty and I  _ have been dating _ for several months, Mrs. Cooper.” 

 

Alice gave him a nasty look before saying, “Dating, is it? I’ve often heard sex workers refer to the time spent with their johns as ‘dates.’”

 

The Jones man pinched the bridge of his nose as he reminded himself not to not to pop off on Betty’s mom. Taking a deep, calming breath, he pinned Alice with a hard look. “Mrs. Cooper, I understand family is very important to Betty and since your daughter is very important to me, I will explain this to you once  _ and only once _ .  _ Your daughter is not a whore and I am not a client. _ We’re both thoughtful, bookish people who work in publishing, and _ mutually know Kevin Keller _ . He introduced us over dinner, we discovered we had a lot in common, we hung out several times and discovered we had mutual interest in each other, and started dating. It’s going well. Now, I would greatly appreciate it if you could refrain from continuing to insult either me or my girlfriend, otherwise I’m going to find it incredibly difficult to remain civil despite Betty’s desire that we get along.”  He took a deep quaff of his coffee and stared Alice down, praying that she couldn’t tell how fast his heart was racing despite his cool demeanor. Alice stared back at him with a completely neutral expression before a look Jug was tempted to call pride flashed through her eyes in a blink-or-you’d-miss-it second of respect. 

 

Just then, Hal and Betty both walked into the kitchen, stopping short at the scene in front of them. Alice turned an oddly serene look toward her family before waving her fork vaguely in Jughead’s direction as she said, “Go on, Forsythe. Eat up. No one likes cold eggs.” Glancing at the angelic blonde he was doing all of this for, his heart thudded like the times he’d been embedded in active war zones, and he promptly shoved a forkful of cooling scrambled eggs in his mouth. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Betty was trying to kill him. It was the only logical explanation he could think of as he watched her perky ponytail bob happily along in front of him as he found himself huffing and wheezing in increasingly thinner air. He bent over his knees for a second to catch his breath, careful to secure his camera from banging against the ground. The soft crunching of Betty’s hiking boots stopped as well. 

 

“Juggie?” his girlfriend asked full of concern as she walked the short way back down the trail toward him.

 

He waved her off. If she was going to expect him to go on any more Bataan Death Marches with her, he was finally going to have to make good on his perpetual promise to give up smoking. It was a daunting thought; and almost made dying from his lungs randomly exploding from overexertion seem appealing. Betty rested a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. “Jug? Are you sure you’re ok?” she asked softly. 

 

Jughead stood back up to his full height. “I didn’t quite appreciate what you meant by ‘a little hike,’ Betts. For some reason, I had it in my head you meant something more like an extended walk through Central Park.” Even though his lungs were  _ burning _ , he tried his damnedest not to grimace as he spoke to her. 

 

“You should’ve said something, Jug!” she admonished, feeling decidedly guilty for taking advantage of her boyfriend’s ignorance of the area. 

 

He shrugged. “Just promise me it’s not two more hours of this until we get to these waterfalls you’ve told me so much about,” he said only half-jokingly. 

 

The young Cooper woman gave him a brilliant smile as she shook her head. “ _ Definitely _ less than two hours,” she said. “Promise!” crossing her fingers over her heart for good measure. 

 

Jug waved Betty onward once his lungs felt less like they were on fire. Instead of taking his invitation to take off ahead of him again, Betty surprised him by looping her fingers through his as she set off at a much more leisurely pace up the trail. The Jones man had to admit, he hadn’t quite known what to make of Betts’ suggestion earlier that morning about going for a hike in Fox Forrest. However, after his rather unpleasant run-in with her mom over breakfast--which he still hadn’t decided to tell her about--getting out of the house on Elm Street for an extended period of time seemed like an excellent idea. 

 

When Betty had unlocked her parents’ garage, the glint in her eyes as she’d hungrily looked at the tarped up car was unlike any expression he’d ever seen on her face. There was joy and unbridled excitement, but underneath it there was almost a dark maliciousness to her look that said she aimed to use whatever was under there to raise hell. The look both aroused and frightened him a little at the same time. Betty removed the tarp carefully, slowly revealing what was beneath like a burlesque dancer. When her Chevy Chevelle was completely uncovered at last, he gave a long, low whistle. The car was a glossy jet black with the barest of white pinstriping and a cherry red leather interior. He watched in awe as his girlfriend hugged the hood of the car like a long-lost relative. They climbed inside--Betty shooting him a glare when he jokingly suggested she let him drive--and the young blonde  _ purred _ as the car’s engine roared to life in the partially enclosed space. Jughead gave her a thoughtful look as he said sincerely, “You are an enigma, Cooper.” She gave him an impish look in return. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Jug,” she added as she slowly inched the car out of the garage, down the driveway, and on to the street. The car rumbled as its power remained constrained until Betty finally reached a patch of highway heading toward one of the entrances to Fox Forrest and she stepped on the gas. There was a vicious-sounding noise from the engine and the next thing Jughead knew, they were flying down the road doing eighty-five miles an hour like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

 

Betty gave Jughead’s hand a light squeeze bringing him back to the present. He gave his head a brief shake before offering her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Betts, what were you asking me?” he said. She flushed a little, whether from the exercise or embarrassment he wasn’t entirely sure, and he found himself having to strain to hear her as she mumbled what he thought sounded like “Have you ever had unprotected sex?” He pulled up short, abruptly dragging Betty to a halt in the process. Jughead studied her with an appraising look before he said, “I’m not sure I heard you correctly, Betty…” his voice trailing off in an implicit invitation to repeat herself again. She glared at him, overcome with an unexpected shyness that she didn’t entirely understand as she said just as quietly as the first two times albeit more distinctly, “Have you ever had unprotected sex?’ He looked deeply into her crystalline green eyes as he answered sincerely, “Never, and I’m happy to take an updated blood test when we get home if you want additional confirmation.” Betty just nodded as she looked off to the side of the trail. Although he was nearly positive he already knew the answer, he still found himself asking, “What about you?” His girlfriend started gnawing so intensely on her lip before she answered that for a moment he actually thought his initial instinct might be wrong, but eventually she said quietly, “Me neither. I’ve never been with anyone I trusted enough to do that with.”

 

They walked along in contemplative silence for awhile, each lost in distant thought. Suddenly, Betty guided them off the marked trail, down a stretch of lightly tamped down grass that was barely wide enough for a single person to squeeze through. They walked in single file with Betty leading the way, pushing overhanging branches and overgrown grasses out of the way every so often, climbing over the occasional fallen tree trunk. Finally, after a little more than fifteen minutes of bushwhacking, Betty stopped, leading Jughead to collide right into her back with an “oomph.” 

 

Stepping to the side, the young woman revealed a perfectly secluded clearing tucked in on the backside of a spectacular waterfall. Jughead gaped. In his travels, he’d had cause to see some pretty magnificent natural wonders, but there was something just so unexpected about the combination of the clearing and the waterfall that took his breath away. Betty watched with quietly simmering happiness as her boyfriend unstrapped his camera and began snapping pictures. As Jughead wandered around the clearing admiring the way the light was refracting through the curtain of water, she took off her hiking boots and socks to dip her feet in the cool refreshing pool of water. 

 

As the water cooled her feverish skin, Betty got an idea. They hadn’t seen anyone while they’d walked up the main trail, and in all her years of coming up to her secret waterfall, she’d  _ never  _ seen anyone else in the clearing. Without a word, the young woman unbuckled the straps of her denim overall shorts before letting them drop easily to the ground. She stood stock still like that at the water’s edge in just a pair of light pink cotton briefs and a fitted white cotton crop top while Jughead suddenly trained his camera on her. Although she knew it was just the two of them, a wave of shyness unexpectedly crashed over her, and she began to turn away from his probing gaze. The next thing she knew, Betty heard Jug saying in a deep, commanding voice, “ _ Don’t.  _ I want to be able to see you, Betts.” 

 

She felt her nipples tighten into taut peaks as her pussy started to thrum in response to the implied promise of his words. Betty toyed with the hem of her barely-there shirt as she looked at the dark haired man in front of her with open lust. Biting her lip, she gave him a coy look before she said breathily, “I’m  _ so hot _ after that hike, I think I might go for a quick swim.” Teasingly, she gripped the hem of her shirt in her hands and inched it agonizingly slowly up and over her head. Jughead’s eyes were nearly all pupil as his own lust nearly obscured the dark cerulean blue of his irises. Jughead continued snapping photos of his own personal nymph as she stood topless in front of him, roughly squeezing her heavy breasts, pinching and twisting her erect buds as her body sought  _ more _ . There was a burr to his voice that made Betty shiver in anticipation as he ordered, “Take off your panties.” Languidly, she slipped her fingers under the cotton hugging her hips and pushed it down over the round apple bottom of her ass. He continued taking pictures as she sensuously bent over to unhook her discarded underwear from around her ankles. 

 

Without another word, Betty walked casually into the cool mountain spring fed by the waterfall, the sudden temperature change making her body hyper aware of  _ everything. _ She rapidly dunked her head under the water before breaking the surface of the water like Venus emerging from her clam shell. Jughead was mesmerized. Looking through the view finder of his camera, he took several pictures of her standing dripping in the water. Zooming in closer, he centered some shots on her breasts, watching as water droplets hung off her perky nipples like icicles before suddenly dropping off on to her arm. He was still taking pictures as he asked her in a gruff voice, “Is this making you horny, Betts? Showing off your body for me while I take pictures?” 

 

She moaned an affirmative “mmmhmmm” as she ran the flat of her palm over her extremely sensitive breasts. “Show me,” he directed. Betty continued pinching and twisting her left nipple as her right hand snaked down her torso, her feather-light caresses raising even more goosebumps on her skin until her fingers glided easily inside her aroused pussy. “ _ Good girl _ ,” Jughead praised, training his camera on the smooth juncture between her legs. He crept a little closer to get a better shot of her cunt. “Were you this aroused when you fingerfucked yourself this morning, Betty?” he growled possessively. She whimpered as she shook her head. He took some close-ups of Betty’s thumb pressing mercilessly against her clit. “Speak up, baby. I didn’t hear that last bit,” he ordered.

 

There was an undeniable neediness in her voice as the blonde plaintively wailed, “Oh Juggie. You have no idea how fucking  _ hot _ it gets me knowing you’re watching me--that you’re listening to me--as I fuck myself thinking of you.”

 

“My little exhibitionist,” he said approvingly. He hungrily watched her as she continued shoving her fingers inside herself over and over, the feeling not really enough to get her off but enough to keep her teetering on the precipice of arousal. She closed her eyes for a second to focus more intently on the sensations she was creating with her fingers when she heard Jughead say, “Show me how wet your needy cunt is,” in a voice that was much closer to her than it had been previously. With a reluctant mewl, she slid her fingers out of her extremely aroused pussy, her juices leaving a clear, tangy sheen behind on her fingers. 

 

“ _ Beautiful _ ,” Jug said with reverent awe as he stared intently at Betty’s face. Gently, he wrapped his fingers around her tiny wrist as he guided her arousal-coated fingers into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth, swirling his tongue fastidiously around each digit as he worked to clean them. When he was done licking her fingers, he pulled her hand down to his erect cock jutting out proudly from his pelvis. She wrapped her hand around his impressive girth and gave him a firm squeeze that caused him to groan as his cock pulsed against her palm. 

 

Betty used her free hand to tug on the hair at the back of his neck, drawing his face closer to her mouth. He hissed as he felt the sharp sting of her teeth tugging on his earlobe. Releasing the abused cartilage, she whispered, “I’m gonna start putting a fucking bell on you, Juggie. Put a stop to this Kitty Soft-paws thing you’ve got going on.” The Jones man kissed her fiercely, nipping at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Where would the fun be in that, Betts?” he said darkly as he used his body to crowd her back under the waterfall. 

 

She shivered as her back made contact with the damp granite rock face made smooth by thousands of years of water eroding it. He looked at her for a moment dumbfounded as to how he, of all people, was lucky enough to have this stunning woman in his life. Leaning in, he kissed her passionately, trying to convey his love for her without scaring her off with clumsy, inarticulate words. Betty kissed him back just as intensely, yanking on his damp hair like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Pulling back for just a moment, she captured his darkened blue eyes with her equally blown out green ones before she said to him, “Make love to me, Juggie.  _ Please _ .” He stared at her in temporary shock before hitching her legs up around his hips. Right as she was lining him up with her inviting entrance, he choked out, “Wait.  _ Betts, wait _ . I’m raw, baby.” 

 

The blonde kissed him soundly before whispering what sounded like “I trust you,” but that just as easily could’ve been “I love you” into his neck before she sank down on him. 

 

His eyes rolled back in his head at the feel of her slick pussy walls caressing the velvety skin of his throbbing cock. Jughead found his attention abruptly brought back to Betty’s face as she pulled sharply on his unruly locks made even wavier by the constant spray from the waterfall. He smiled at her, mirroring the unconstrained joy he saw shining back at him. Shifting her weight so he could grip her ass more securely in his hands, a small part of him wished they were laying down on the grass, if only so he’d have access to his hands for things other than just making sure he didn’t drop the sexy goddess bouncing up and down on his cock like a pogo stick. At the end of the day though, he realized it was really the best type of complaint to have. As Betty raised herself up again, he opened his mouth as her breast passed his face, capturing her teasingly erect nipple between his lips. He worried the rosy bud lightly with his teeth, causing her to hold his face more tightly to her chest as she moaned loudly, “ _ Oh Juggie! _ ” Her cries reverberated off the stone surrounding them, fueling an overwhelming animalistic urge within him to mark her as his own. Without warning, he bit down harshly on her shoulder causing her to cry out again as she instinctively clutched his cock even tighter with her cunt. He watched the pale skin of her shoulder blade flush an angry red around the indentations of his teeth. “ _ Mine _ ,” he growled, pressing her back harder against the granite as he began pistoning his hips furiously against her. 

 

“ _ Always _ ,” Betty keened eagerly. 

 

She arched her back, the exaggerated angle of her spine tilting her pelvis in such a way allowing him to run the ridge of his cock over and over her G-spot. Betty moaned, “ _ Harder, Juggie. _ ” 

 

He readjusted his hands again so her legs were open wider with her knees hitched over his forearms forcing them back toward her ribs. The new position drew her pussy artificially tighter against his cock accentuating the friction of his thrusts. Jug dropped his head to her clavicle. His voice was ragged with need as he said, “Touch yourself, Betty. I need to feel you cum, baby.” Dutifully, she twined a thin arm between their bodies seeking out the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs that would push her toward orgasmic bliss. Betty found her slippery clit with little difficulty and promptly set to work rubbing it in a rhythmic circular motion in time with his increasingly determined bucking. Jughead kissed her hard before pulling away, holding her gaze unblinkingly as he continued pounding into her. Her fingers moved faster and faster, keeping pace with his hips. Betty’s breathe hitched on one last high pitched squeak before her body started convulsing in the young man’s arms, her pussy fluttering uncontrollably around his cock. She gave a final contented sigh before her body weight collapsed limply in his arms. Jughead grunted once, then twice before eventually spending his cum deep in her tender cunt. 

 

He did his best to untangle Betty’s body from her oddly folded positioning before his legs gave out from his own orgasm and they both dropped into the water. As it was, his girlfriend had just enough time to settle her weight on her feet as he started sliding down the length of her body until he was kneeling in water three-quarters of the way up his chest, resting his forehead on Betty’s pelvis, periodically nibbling on her hip. The young woman lovingly cradled his head against her body, methodically running her fingers through his incredibly soft locks, perfectly content in that moment. 

 

They stayed like that for several minutes: Jug looking every bit the supplicant to Betty’s beatific angel of mercy. Like all good things though, they were eventually forced to end their blissful snuggling due to Jughead’s knees going completely numb from the combination of the cold water and the fact he’d been kneeling for an extended period of time on a hard underwater rock outcropping. Reluctantly, he let go of the blonde’s lithe waist, only to fall awkwardly backward into the water as he tried to stand up. He looked up at her in mock outrage through the tousled waves that fell in front of his eyes as the young woman laughed delightfully as he unexpectedly plopped into the water. Betty had the briefest of moments to realize his evil intentions as he grabbed her by the ankle and yanked her down into the water with him. She rubbed a tender spot on her upper thigh that had scraped on some loose rock as she came down with a startling amount of force and shot him a vaguely unamused look before swiftly using her unoccupied hand to send a small wave of water flying into his face. Floating in front of her, he looked at her in spluttering shock for a full minute that she had splashed him so brazenly as kaleidoscopic water droplets hung off his hair and his eyelashes and the tip of his nose. He moved like he was about to frog-swim away from her in a huff before spinning around at the last minute, knowing she had nowhere to escape with the rock wall within inches of her back, and sent a tremendous wave of water back at her with his forearm. His return salvo caught her off-guard and she shrieked in surprise as the cold water crashed into her. Jughead gave her an unrepentant smirk. Exhibiting a gracefulness that he foolishly wasn’t anticipating, Betty quickly spun her legs up under her so she could launch herself off the rock wall behind her like a torpedo to chase after him. 

 

They spent the next hour or so frolicking playfully in the water until Betty’s stomach started rumbling--loudly. Betty looked mortified as Jughead started laughing hysterically. Quickly redressing, they started their lengthy (although seemingly quicker) walk back toward the Chevelle. Between the lingering late afternoon summer heat and the amount of time it took them to return to the car, they were both nearly dry from their skinny dipping excursion as they were clicking themselves back in to the leather seats.

 

As they climbed in the car and settled into their seats, Jughead looked over at Betty, a halo of air-dried flyaways framing her face like one of the religious icons he’d seen traveling through Eastern Europe, the epitome of joy and happiness. He found himself beginning to blurt out, “Betty, I…” when right at that moment her phone lit up as “ _ Everything is Awesome _ ” started blaring. He raised an eyebrow as she answered. She mouthed ‘Long story’ at him before turning her attention back to her conversation. 

 

“Pol, I don’t think we’ll be home for dinner. We just got done with a hike, and I wanted to take Juggie to Pop’s,” Betty said with a soft smile in her voice. There was a brief pause, then he heard his girlfriend say in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “If you agree not to tell your mom, I will get  _ each _ of you a strawberry shake from Pop’s in exchange for... _ ten _ hugs and kisses  _ a piece. _ ” Jughead looked at the blonde awe-struck at how easily she seemed to transition from depraved sex goddess to thoughtful sister to fun aunt. He became more firmly entrenched in his desire to let her know how he felt about her. His brain kicked back in right in time to hear Betty add, “You drive a hard bargain, Juniper. Ok, two chocolate milkshakes for Mommy and Pop-pop, and a black-and-white for Grandma. Deal.”

 

The young woman put her phone down in one of her immaculately clean cup holders and threw the car into drive. He gripped the door handle as the tires squealed, kicking gravel up against the underside of the chassis. Looking over at Betty, she met his look with a grin as she said, “Are you ready to have your doors blown off?” He gave her a short affirmative nod, and she hit the gas with a laugh. 

 

It was a short twenty minute drive from the trail head to the diner at the edge of town. His eyes widened, face illuminated softly by a combination of the back glow of the neon surrounding the diner and the dying early evening light. “I’m in love,” he said partially to himself. Betty gave a tinkling laugh as she started getting out of the Chevy. Her door was already closed when he added “with you.” He shook his head. He  _ needed  _ to tell Betty how he felt, sooner rather than later.

 

His mouth started watering as soon as they walked in the door—the tantalizing smell of hamburger hanging heavy in the air. Betty lead them toward a partially secluded booth in the distant back corner of the restaurant. “Kevin would  _ insist  _ on sitting at this booth in high school so he could watch everyone who came in and out of here. I can’t begin to tell you how many couples broke up after Kevin’s people-watching lead him to figure out someone was cheating.” Jughead shook his head. He wanted to be surprised, but it just fit so perfectly with everything he knew about the man. 

 

Just as he was beginning to wonder if anyone worked at the diner, a heaping basket of the most delicious-looking chili cheese fries he’d ever seen magically appeared on their table. Part of him wanted to point out to the person who dropped the food that they hadn’t ordered it, but the more dominant part of his brain already had a handful of sinfully tasty carbs shoved into his mouth. The only reason Jug  _ knew _ he was neither dead nor dreaming was that Betty wasn’t naked, otherwise he would’ve been convinced he was in heaven. Looking over at his girlfriend, the young man finally realized house elves were not responsible for the mysterious chili fry offering, but rather an older gentleman in a traditional soda jerk outfit. Betty was beaming at the man as if everything about seeing him made her happy. 

 

“Pop!” she cried excitedly.

 

The man beamed just as happily at the blonde. “Betty Cooper! As I live and breathe. Wasn’t expecting to see you back here so soon.” 

 

If Jughead hadn’t been so attuned to Betty’s expressions, he was sure he would’ve missed the way her smile wavered for the briefest nanosecond at the older man’s comment. She recovered before he had a chance to say anything. Instead, he found the exuberant blonde saying in an artificially perky voice, “Yep! I just couldn’t wait to bring my boyfriend home to Riverdale.” She turned her manic gaze on him as she added, “Jug, this is Pop Tate. He owns this place. I used to work for him back in high school. Pop, this is my boyfriend, Jughead Jones.” 

 

The young man stuck out his hand receiving a deceptively firm handshake from the older man. “I think I’m already in love with your chili cheese fries,” Jug practically gushed. Pop laughed. “Don’t fill up too soon,” he said as he walked back toward the kitchen, “You haven’t even had any pie.” Jughead glowed nearly as brightly as the neon surrounding the diner. 

 

Looking back over at Betty, he saw her studying him with a secret smile she usually reserved for when it was just the two of them tucked up under a blanket at home. He gave her a goofy smirk causing her smile to grow even bigger. She reached across the table to hold his hand, running her thumb methodically over his fingertips. 

 

When Pop came back a few minutes later with another basket of chili cheese fries, Jughead still hadn’t looked at the menu, but trusted Betty’s sterling recommendation that “everything was amazing.” Pop confirmed that the Cooper woman wanted “her usual,” then gave the young man a serious look. “Mmmmm,” the older man said thoughtfully, “I think you look like a Double Thick kind of man with extra cheese.” Jughead could feel himself begin salivating at the mere thought. “Sounds great,” he confirmed. Pop Tate walked away to get started on their food.

 

Betty was truly impressed. Not only had her boyfriend single-handedly polished off  _ two _ baskets of Pop Tate’s famous chili cheese fries, but he’d done it without looking like a toddler eating a plate of pasta with red sauce either. When Pop returned to their table a third time with their dinner, he gave Betty a questioning look, implicitly asking if they’d need a to-go box for Jughead’s food. Her ponytail swished over the tops of her shoulders as she shook her head “no.” 

 

By the time she was halfway done with her own burger, Jug had polished off his Double Thick burger with extra, extra sharp cheddar cheese, and was dipping the last of his onion rings in the seasoned burger grease pooled in the middle of his otherwise empty plate. When he was finished, he leaned back in the booth with a content sigh and patted his stomach. “Betts,” he said after a minute, “I hope you realize you’re stuck with me now.” She laughed. “What? Like a stray?” she asked smiling. 

 

Nodding, he said, “Exactly like that. You’ve fed me and now I’m never going to leave you alone.”

 

She looked deeply into his eyes for a second before she blinked as she said, “I think I can live with that.” 

The look she gave him as she answered him set his heart on fire. His brain started screaming at him, ‘ _ Tell her. Tell her now! TELL HER YOU LOVE HER! _ ’ He was on the verge of opening his mouth to give voice to his most vulnerable thoughts when Pop Tate swooped in again with the largest slice of warm apple pie a la mode Jughead had ever seen. If he was being completely honest, he wasn’t entirely sure one could even technically call what was on the plate a “slice” since it looked to be closer to about a quarter of a pie. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, their “moment” was gone and with it, his sudden bout of emotional bravado. He shoved a heaping bite of pie into his mouth, more than a little disgusted with his cowardice. 

 

****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

A weight felt lifted off her chest. Ever since Polly had first insisted that her boyfriend come to Riverdale with her for Labor Day, Betty had been feeling like her ribs were trying to compress her lungs with every breath. But now, after the perfect day they’d had in her two favorite places and no major blow-ups with her mom, she almost felt silly for being so worried. 

 

Pulling her car into the garage, she cut the engine and unclicked her seatbelt. She put her hand on his arm when he made to get out of the car. “Juggie?” she said softly. He looked at her. “I just wanted to say ‘thank you.’ Coming here this weekend, I was really nervous something was going to go wrong, and you’ve given me some really beautiful memories. That means a lot to me, Jug.” 

 

“Betty, I…” he’d started saying when two small strawberry-blonde imps randomly popped their heads up by the driver side window, pressing their gothically pale faces against the glass like a pair of bizarre moons. Jughead startled having not seen either of the twins enter the building after they pulled in, which in turn lead to Betty turning with a surprised shriek when she saw her niece and nephew staring owlishly at her from outside the car. 

 

Once the children realized they had their aunt’s attention, they simultaneously began yelling “Auntie Betty!” and “Milkshakes!” in a pitch Jughead swore was more animal than human. Betty shot him an apologetic look over the unforeseen interruption but he simply waved it off with a barely suppressed smile. “Can’t say I blame them,” he said warmly, “I’d probably be bum rushing your car too if I knew there was a milkshake from Pop’s inside.” The young woman gave him one last “what-can-ya-do?” shrug before cautiously opening her door. 

 

Jughead had only just gotten out of the car with the six-pack carton holding the five to-go milkshakes when he felt arms behind him wrapping around each of his legs. Steadying himself on the hood of the car, he twisted around to see Juniper and Dagwood looking up at him adoringly. He arched an eyebrow at them. The twins shared a look before Juniper piped up, “Auntie Betty says we have to pay you half the bounty to ransom our milkshakes.” Jug had half a second to ruminate on the cuteness of their aunt’s suggestion when Dagwood added, “But we think we should just steal them and keep our payment!” The young man’s brain processed the boy’s statement with just enough time to secure the carrier on the hood of the Chevy before the twins began an unrelenting tickle attack on him. 

 

That was how all of the older Coopers found him ten minutes later, rolling around in the driveway, with the twins crawling all over him. “ _ Help! _ ” Jughead said with a desperate laugh when he finally realized Betty was standing there. Before she had a chance to step in, Alice’s dry voice rang out over the assembled group, “Now children, what do I always tell you?” The twins temporarily paused their unforgiving ministrations, making the Jones man almost grateful to Mrs. Cooper for a second, until the children shared an evil look and simultaneously shouted, “SHOW NO MERCY!” Alice clapped her hands in glee as both her daughters screamed “ _ Mom! _ ” The older woman gave them an unrepentant look before she rolled her eyes with a huffy “Fine,” and directed her grandchildren to “Leave Auntie Betty’s friend alone.” Juniper and Dagwood gave a whine that was quickly silenced by their grandmother’s frosty glare before they begrudgingly climbed off him. 

 

Hal handed out the melting milkshakes while Betty helped Jug dust himself off. She was about to apologize for her niece and nephew’s behavior when the grown-ups abruptly heard one of them scream, “ _ DEATH FIRST! _ ” then a loud crash, causing them all to take off running toward the house.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Jughead longed to be back in the City. Not because he wasn’t enjoying his time in Riverdale, but because he had more outlets for his insomnia at two in the morning. He rolled on to his side for the thousandth time, hoping to finally find a position that would help him nod off to no avail. Accepting that getting any sleep was probably a lost cause, he got up and grabbed his coat off the easy chair he’d thrown it over, digging out his pack of cigarettes. Careful to be quiet, he opened the front door and walked out on to the porch, completely forgetting Betty’s warning about keeping the door propped. 

 

Thirty minutes and two cigarettes later, Jug felt significantly calmer. Betty was right—it  _ had _ been a good trip so far Alice’s microaggressions aside—although he had to admit, the older woman’s indulgence of her two hellion grandchildren floored him. He hadn’t completely followed the explanation the children had given their grandmother, but it had sufficiently placated her into ignoring the two cracked floor tiles and the partially broken chair they’d left behind in the kitchen. If his girlfriend was an enigma at least he knew where she inherited it.

 

He crushed out his second butt, and turned to head back into the house. The door handle jingled mockingly in his hand. Jughead tried the door again with more force before remembering his girlfriend’s warning about the door’s security feature. He dropped his head to the wood with a dull thud. 

 

The young man stood like that for a few moments before walking back out from under the front portico. Unless he wanted to sleep on the porch like the hobo Cheryl Blossom was always accusing him of being, he had to figure out a way to wake Betty up so she could let him back in the house. He walked down the front walkway stopping to grab a handful of decorative pebbles from the trench laid out next to the cement slabs. Then, he turned back toward the house and tried figuring out which room was Betty’s based on the nanosecond he was up there earlier that evening to grab his pajamas. Taking aim, he threw a couple of the pebbles toward the window farthest to the left. 

 

Nothing.

 

He tried again. This time he threw an entire handful of pebbles in rapid succession. Just as he was going to try a third time, a soft light went on in Betty’s room and her window opened. Hissing between his teeth, he called out as loudly as he dared, “ _ Betty! _ ” She looked around for a minute, confused as to why she was hearing her name being whisper-yelled outside her house past 2:30 in the morning on a Sunday. Finally, she spied him standing on the pathway.

 

“ _ Jug? _ ” she whisper-yelled back. “ _ What are you doing? _ ”

 

Rather than destroy his throat, he just waved the pack of cigarettes at her, trusting her to fill in the rest. Instead of heading downstairs to let him in like he expected, Betty started gesturing for him to look over toward the garage. He loped over to the structure, and found what Betty must’ve been thinking of. Laying beside the far side of the building, not well obscured by the decorative ivy, was a twenty foot aluminum ladder. 

 

It took several minutes for him to negotiate the ladder over to the house as it was not only unwieldy for him to carry on his own, but he was also trying to avoid waking up the whole neighborhood. Once he had it properly secured against the side of the house, the climb up to Betty’s open window was thankfully short. Reaching the window sill, he leaned on the frame and said, “Hey there, Juliet. Nurse off duty?” with a jaunty smirk. His girlfriend just rolled her eyes at the cheesy line as she turned around to grab something off her dresser. Backlit as she’d been, Jughead hadn’t been able to fully discern what she was wearing from the ground. Up close, however, he suddenly found himself no longer as ready to go to sleep as he’d been. 

 

He silently crept through the window while his girlfriend was distracted, waiting until he was right behind her to whisper in the shell of her ear, “Guess you should’ve put that bell on me after all.” A predatory grin broke across his face as she shivered at his words, goosebumps littering the wide expanse of skin exposed by her tiny spaghetti strap crop top. She slowly pivoted around to face him. 

 

Jughead wasn’t remotely prepared for the dark sensuous look Betty shot him from underneath eyes hooded by lust. “I don’t remember inviting you into my room,” she said quietly as she drew her nails sharply down his clothed chest, eliciting a small hiss from him. 

 

“Maybe not with words…” He inhaled fiercely as Betty roughly tweaked his nipple before adding, “but your ass was begging me to come in.” 

 

The young woman deliberately took one of his hands in hers and pressed it firmly on her ass cheek exposed by the black and red ‘laundry day’ shorts she was wearing. As she squeezed the supple flesh with their combined hands, she smiled at the low groan that eased out of his mouth. “This ass?” she taunted. 

 

All he could do was mutely nod. 

 

Betty leaned closer to him and nipped lightly at his lips. “I bet you want to see it, don’t you? Taste it?” she continued teasing him, her unoccupied hand snaking its way into his hair, savagely pulling on it. 

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” he moaned a little too loudly. 

 

She pushed him away without warning causing him to stumble back against her bed. “I’m not so sure you  _ deserve  _ a treat after sneaking into my room, Juggie,” she threatened vaguely. 

 

“ _ Please, baby,”  _ he begged shamelessly. “Please, let me taste you.” 

 

Leaning back against her dressing table, she slipped her hands under the waistband of her shorts, letting the barely-there garment fall effortlessly to the floor. Jughead made to come closer to her only to stop short at Betty’s disapproving tsking. Widening her stance so he could better see her smooth pussy, she ran her hand down the inside of her thigh, ghosting her fingertips over her increasingly aroused cunt. 

 

Sinking her index and middle fingers inside herself, she moaned quietly, conscious of her mother just down the hall. “Is this what you want, Jug? Do you want to know how good I taste?” she teased, slowly removing her coated fingers before offering them to him from across the room. 

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” he breathed, making to move toward her again. 

 

He’d barely gotten a couple inches closer when she flicked her hand away from him only to suck on her wet digits herself. Jughead let loose a low growl. Betty merely let out a dark chuckle as she released her fingers from her mouth with a taunting “pop.” “Mmmmmm,  _ delicious _ ,” she said with a growl of her own. 

 

“ _ Betts _ ...” he started to threaten.

 

“Ask nicely,” she ordered.

 

He stared directly into her eyes as he said so softly she could’ve easily missed it, “Let me fuck your pussy with my mouth, baby.”

 

Her breath hitched for the briefest second as she faux contemplated his request before she finally relented. “Well, when you put it like that, how could I say no?”

 

Jughead was on her in the space of a heartbeat, his tongue probing at her inviting heat as he drew one of her legs over his shoulder forcing her down closer to his mouth. Betty dug her nails into the wood moulding of her dressing table to keep from moaning out loud at the exquisite feelings of ecstasy he was inspiring within her. With every pass of his tongue over her aching clit, she rocked her hips toward his face needing to feel more than just the fleeting glimpses of friction he was providing. Out of nowhere, she felt his index finger tentatively penetrate her ass as he sucked hard on her sensitive bundle of nerves. In an effort not to cry out in rapture, the young woman bit her lip until she tasted the coppery tang of blood in her mouth. 

 

Betty loved how she felt with Jug’s finger probing her ass while his tongue was buried deep in her pussy. She shifted her hand from her table to the back of his head, forcing his mouth to stay locked against her cunt as she shamelessly ground herself against his face. Before long, she found herself whimpering desperately, hovering so close to the precipice of orgasm she could nearly taste it on the air of her room. With one final high-pitched squeak, the young Cooper woman started spasming against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as she came to stop herself from rattling her dresser too much and waking up the rest of the house. 

 

They stayed like that for awhile--Jughead on his knees, his chest and shoulders helping to keep Betty propped up as she waited to regain feeling in her extremities. “Meow,” she finally said with a self-satisfied purr. The young man in front of her simply smirked against her thigh. Betty’s gaze dimly settled on the digital clock blinking ominously at her from her bedside table. Something about the time--4:07--seemed like it should concern her. The sex haze that had settled over her brain instantly vanished as her consciousness realized her mom would be most likely be up and about in under an hour. She rapidly started disentangling herself from her boyfriend as she rasped, “My mom! Jug, you gotta get back downstairs  _ now _ .” 

 

He reacted slowly as his muscles protested having to move so much after being hunched over on his knees for such a long time. When he was finally upright, Betty wasted no time in shooing him back toward the window, shoving her house keys into his fist with a peck to his cheek and a reminder to “put the ladder back” in the general vicinity of where he found it. 

 

His feet hadn’t even touched the lawn again before he heard Betty’s window snap shut.

****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

There were elephants in her room. Or rhinos. Or some other large, wild animals with a propensity for rampaging through their environments in a stirred up frenzy. It was the only explanation. The covers she’d been blissfully hiding beneath were mercilessly ripped off her head as Dagwood shouted a half inch from her face, “ _ AUNTIE BETTY! _ ” She almost accidentally-on-purpose decked her eight-year-old nephew as she struggled to wrest her blankets away from him. If she hadn’t already gotten a copper IUD in college, Betty was positive that following the weekend with the twins she would’ve been sprinting to her gynecologist the minute she and Jug got back to Manhattan. ‘I love my niece and nephew. I love my niece and nephew. I love my niece and nephew,’ she found herself silently chanting as her eyes fought to stay glued shut indefinitely. 

 

“Auntie Betty,  _ get. Upppppppppppppppppppppppp! _ ” Juniper whined, jumping on Betty’s bed. “Grandma says we can’t have hamburgers  _ til you get up _ .”

 

Betty just mumbled incoherently, turning her face to bury it deeper into her pillows.

 

“ _ Auntie Betty! We’re hungryyyyyyyyyyyy! _ ” the twins managed to say in a perfectly coordinated whinge. 

 

She limply waved them off. “F’ve mor’ m’nits,” she murmured, her words largely muffled by the downy clouds cushioning her face. 

 

“No! Not five more minutes! NOW!” the resonant petulant voices echoed. 

 

Betty just groaned. Eventually Satan would have to recall his minions. It was just a matter of waiting them out in the meantime. 

 

She’d never been so happy to hear her sister’s voice as Polly called up the stairs, “Juniper? Dagwood?”

 

However, much to her chagrin, the twins did not scamper off to heed their mother as she’d hoped. In fact, the reedy voices doubled down as they shouted back out the open door of her room, “Mom! Auntie Betty won’t get up!” Betty heard the familiar protesting creak of the stairs as Polly made her way up to find her children and her sister. 

 

When her sister finally reached her doorway, Polly surprised her by not only  _ not _ chastising the twins for so rudely trying to awaken her, but by saying in a surprised yelp, “Betty! You’re going to miss the barbeque. It’s already a little after noon.” She paused for a moment, debating with herself before adding in a much quieter voice, “ _ Mom’s pissed _ .” 

 

Betty found herself struggling to sit up as her sister’s words sank dully into her brain. “ _ After _ noon?” she croaked out in a confused voice. “How is that possible?”

 

Polly positively glowed at her baby sister. “Your boyfriend was  _ quite _ chivalrous this morning. Down right  _ insisted _ that your hike yesterday just completely sapped you of all your energy and that you  _ were not _ to be disturbed before lunch.” She sighed in a sort of impressed way, as if the concern Jug had shown for his girlfriend’s well-being was a downright herculean endeavor. Betty tried to surreptitiously roll her eyes at her older sister’s theatrics, while simultaneously grinning to herself over the  _ real _ reason he knew she needed to sleep in. 

 

Fighting against the heaviness in her limbs, Betty struggled to swing her legs over the side of her bed, knowing that it’d be easier to convince herself to wake up once she was standing. “Why’s Mom upset?” she said with a yawn. “I mean, I know she’s not a fan of sleeping past 7:30 a.m., but from how you said it, it seems like it’s more than that.”

 

Shooing her kids out of her sister’s room, so the younger woman could get dressed in peace, she said, “Not sure. She said something about inviting some people over from  _ The Register _ for the barbeque? You know how she gets when company is involved.”

 

Betty rubbed her eyes harshly as she muttered, “ _ And the hits just keep on coming _ ,” under her breath. Standing up with a protesting groan, she lightly slapped her cheeks a few times with her hands, the rubber-band-like sting finally waking her up enough to human. She gave Polly a couple of long, slow blinks before she rapidly smacked her cheeks a couple more times. Finally, she told her sister, “I’m awake. I’m good. You can tell Mom I’m up. I’ll be down in about ten minutes.” Her older sister gave her a mildly skeptical “mom” look before finally heading back downstairs to rejoin Jughead and the rest of the family. 

 

She took a minute to weigh whether she should take the time to do her full beauty routine despite it already being so late, or if she should stick to her tried and true 15-minutes-or-less look. Although she knew that her mother would probably prefer her to be completely “pressed and dressed” since they were having company, ultimately Betty decided against it for Jughead’s sake. He wasn’t a big socializer under normal circumstances, and leaving him at the mercy of five of her relatives he barely knew and a group of however many strangers her parents had invited seemed needlessly cruel. 

 

By the time she’d finished putting on her 5” inseam navy chino shorts, her crisp white fitted boat neck peasant blouse, her immaculate white Keds, thrown her hair up in her iconic ponytail, and applied her eye makeup and lip gloss, it was pushing close to 12:40. She swallowed thickly, more than a little nervous about how upset Alice was likely to be. Luckily, as she was coming down the stairs, the doorbell rang. Calling out “I got it!,” Betty went to open the door for her parents’ guest. 

 

“Hi!” she said brightly to the frail-looking young man standing nervously on the porch.

 

“Umm,” he stumbled, before rushing out “I’mlookingforAliceandHalCoopertheyinvitedmetotheirbarbeque?”

 

Betty gave the man, who couldn’t have been more than two or three years younger than her, a warm smile as she waved him inside. Odd as it seemed on the surface, Betty actually found it rather endearing that her parents had seemingly taken some intern or recent graduate under their wings and were working to create a sense of community for the young man. It reminded her of when she was little and her mom would spend what felt like  _ hours _ on a Saturday with her, helping her youngest child build shadow boxes for Betty to stage her various fantastical stories for the family.

 

They had just entered the kitchen on their way out to the back patio when they came across Jughead, or more precisely, his ass sticking out of the Coopers’ refrigerator. The nervous man next to her gave a low whistle as he whispered eagerly, “Who’s the snack?” Betty quickly tamped down her knee-jerk reaction of wanting to hiss at the stranger for opening lusting after what was hers, and instead said with a generous smile, “That would be my boyfriend.” Her companion gave a wistful sigh as he said, “Figures. All the cute ones I like are usually taken already.” 

 

Before she had a chance to give him some iteration of the “I’m sure you’ll find someone when the time is right” pep talk that Polly had so frequently given her when she was younger, her dad walked into the kitchen. The young man unceremoniously shoved a bottle of bourbon at her father that he’d been secreting in his arms as he rushed out “ThankyousomuchMr.Cooperforinvitingmetoyourhome.” Hal just laughed before booming out, “PHIL! C’mon out back. You look in need of a drink...or three.” Without another word, Betty watched as her father unceremoniously locked his arm around the back of the young man’s neck and half guided, half dragged him out into the backyard. She was still watching where the two men had gone, when she heard her boyfriend’s voice coiling in her ear. “So I’m a snack, huh?” 

 

The young woman merely rolled her eyes as she turned her head to give him a light peck on the cheek. She wasn’t going to fuel his ego any more than it already was by feeding his vanity with a response, although she did catch herself smiling a little at his petulant pouting for not playing along with him. 

 

They worked their way back out to the backyard, Jughead carrying several bottles of marinades and barbeque sauces that Alice had tasked him with digging out of the fridge. While there was no arguing that Pop Tate made the best hamburgers in Riverdale bar none, as far as homemade burgers went, Betty felt most people would be hard pressed to find a better burger-making duo than her parents. Her mom had literally spent years perfecting her meat to spice ratios, while her dad had discovered the bliss point for basting the patties with marinade/sauce without overcooking them. It was precisely the type of domestic partnership that Betty could quite easily find herself enjoying with Jug in twenty years. The passing thought made her smile.

 

As the barbeque kicked into high gear, more and more people began filling up the Coopers’ backyard. Jughead was staying pretty close to the grill--inhaling hamburgers and sausage with onions nearly as quickly as Betty’s dad could churn them out. Betty, on the other hand, would periodically get lost in the blur of faces as Polly or her mom, and even occasionally one of the random guests, would pull her aside, usually to ask her help with something. 

 

That was how she found herself back in the kitchen cutting up more onions for the sausage. By the time she was done, she had a heaping plate of sliced up raw onion for her dad to grill--which she managed  to cut up in less time than it took for her mom to find her in the sea of bodies outside and then ask Betty to go cut them. She shook her head--it was such an Alice move--a pretty torment against her daughter for being “tardy” that morning since she wasn’t in a position to make a proper scene over it. All she needed to do was get through less than one more day with her family, and then she and Jughead were free to fly home to the comfort and security of Jones Street. She gripped the edges of the white ceramic plate in her hands just a smidge tighter as she plastered on her award-winning-million-dollar-Betty-Cooper-smile and returned to the backyard. 

 

Betty was so focused on keeping her eyes on Jughead’s beanie as her compass point back to the grill that she didn’t realize she nearly walked straight into her mother and one of the guests. Right as she was about to open her mouth to instinctively apologize, the guest turned around. The rushing in her ears was immediate as her heart began furiously racing and she started feeling light-headed. She shook her head over and over trying to clear it of the mirage in front of her. The “mirage” just grinned the sickly, thin-lipped grimace Betty hoped to never see again as her mother’s overly gleeful voice rang out, “Elizabeth! Good. I was just about to find you. I think you remember Chic, right?” 

 

The young blonde woman found herself struggling to breath as the worst of her nightmares brought to life said in an all-too-familiar nasally voice, “Hello, Betty.”

 

White ceramic shards and raw onion pieces exploded into a bizarre shrapnel mix as the plate Betty was holding abruptly dropped to the ground as the youngest Cooper went numb in each of her extremities. She kept staring mutely at the smug-looking duo as shock continued to overtake her body.

 

The straw that finally broke her mind was her mother’s voice saying, “Chic’s the new ‘at large’ digital content editor for  _ The Register _ , Elizabeth. Probably one of the best hires we’ve made in the past couple months.” Chic beamed like an LED lightbulb.

 

Betty crumpled to the ground like a broken marionette doll. 

 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d passed out for, all she knew was that when she woke up, her head was laying in her sister’s lap and Jughead was hovering over them like an avenging angel of death. The rage rolling off him was palpable. “Juggie?” she croaked in a crackling voice.

 

He swooped down to her, his rage instantly evaporating as concern overtook him now that he knew she was awake. “I’m here, Betts,” he whispered as he stroked her hair lovingly. 

 

“Where’s…” she started asking, using so much effort to speak that Jughead instinctively began shushing her to rest her voice. She shook her head lightly before trying again. “Where’s Chic?” she finally got out.

 

Jughead’s hand immediately stilled in her hair. “What was that, baby?” he said with barely suppressed rage and disbelief.

 

Before Betty had a chance to speak, the dark-haired man caught Polly’s eyes flicking up to the back of a tow-headed man huddling next to their mother. He slowly uncoiled to his full height, easily having a two inch advantage on the man in his boots. His eyes flashed as they caught the briefest malicious glint in Alice’s over the other man’s shoulder as she said, “Forsythe! I don’t believe you’ve met our ‘at large’ digital content editor, Chic Martin. Chic, this is Elizabeth’s  _ boyfriend _ , Forsythe Jones.” He felt icy rage seeping further into his veins with every word out of Alice’s mouth. 

 

“ _ Chic _ ,” Jughead said, struggling to keep the disdain out of his voice. “That’s a... _ unique _ name.”

 

“I could say the same of  _ Forsysthe _ ,” the oily young man said with a sneer. 

 

Jughead ignored the comment. Although he was almost positive of the answer based on Betty’s reaction, he still found himself asking, “New to the area?” 

 

The shorter man gave the Jones man a nasty look. “Actually, I grew up in Riverdale. Betty and I  _ go way back _ .” 

 

Jug fought back the bile rising in his throat. He pinned Alice with a hard stare. “You’re a sick bitch,” he spat.

 

The malevolent smile that had been hovering at the corners of her mouth turned into a full-blown smile. “Why? For giving a talented young man a second chance?” she goaded.

 

“You  _ ambushed _ your daughter and you know it!” he hissed. 

 

“Hardly an ‘ambush’ when I’m allowed to invite any guests I choose into  _ my _ home,” she said with surprising pleasantness. Chic preened.

 

“And giving him the same job title as your daughter?” he asked in an unimpressed voice.

 

Alice cut her eyes fleetingly over to Chic, a moment before he said smugly, “That was really my suggestion. It seemed... _ appropriate _ .”

 

“I see,” Jug said darkly to himself right as he swung on Chic without warning. The blonde man crumpled like a piece of paper as a splotch of blood began blooming across his face. Chic struggled to sit up as pain shot through his nose. He spat out a gob of blood. 

 

“ _ Perfect _ ,” he hissed just as he lunged for Jughead’s knees. Both men let out “oomphs” as Jug came down hard on Chic’s ribs. They traded jabs, elbows flying, as they rolled around on the patio until Jug eventually registered Betty screaming, “ _ Jug! STOP! _ ” He paused, his arm cocked back to hit Chic in the jaw as Chic’s arm flopped limply while he half-heartedly tried to use the opportunity to suckerpunch the dark-haired man. 

 

“What are you doing?” she cried as she stood next to her sister, supporting herself with an arm wrapped around the other woman’s waist.

 

He gave her an incredulous look. “ _ He’s _ a dick, and  _ your mom _ is a psychopath who set  _ this whole thing up _ just to upset you, Betts,” Jug said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

 

Betty gave him a withering look that reminded him creepily of Alice. “And how is  _ brawling _ in my parents’ backyard in front of  _ all their other friends and employees _ doing a damn thing to help me?” 

 

Jughead stuttered. “What’d you suggest I do?!” he yelled looking at her in shock.

 

“Leave it alone, Jug! You could’ve just left it the fuck alone! We were going to be out of here in less than twenty-four hours. You didn’t need  _ to do _ anything!” she shrilled. 

 

He gaped at her. His girlfriend being pissed off and upset was not the reaction he was anticipating.

 

She gave him a distraught look before she pushed herself away from Polly. “I have to go,” she whispered right before she turned and ran back into the house. 

 

The whole situation was so surreal everyone just watched as the young woman fled. It wasn’t until the roar of the Chevelle’s engine broke the tempered quiet of Elm Street that the background din of the barbeque resumed. Jughead glanced from Alice to Chic to Polly before settling on his girlfriend’s sister. He didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before Polly said, “I think you need to leave. I can take you to the train.” He just gave her a short nod. As he walked back into the house to get his stuff, Alice looked like she’d just won the lottery. It made his guts twist.


	15. The Heart Wants What It Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jughead and Betty deal with some terrible miscommunication, Cheryl has a coming-to-Jesus moment with Jug, and Veronica and Archie are involved in a little mischief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost--thank you to each and every one of you amazing people for taking the time to read this story. You are wonderful!! Also, let me extend an EXTRA SPECIAL "Thank you" to all of you special people who take the time to leave comments/share a kudos/bookmark/reblog this story. The fact that you're just as enthusiastic about this little universe I've created brings me more joy and happiness than I can fully express. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!
> 
> Second, this chapter deals with a little BDSM. (SUPER LIGHT, in case that's not your thing.) That being said, here's your friendly PSA--ALWAYS KEEP THINGS SAFE, SANE, AND CONSENSUAL. Discuss safe words, what you're willing AND unwilling to do, and don't be afraid to communicate with your partner BEFORE you engage in kink play. Also, DON'T FORGET AFTERCARE! Particularly if you're trying out BDSM for the first time, make sure you take care of your partner and/or your partner takes care of you afterwards. Non-sexual skin-to-skin contact is a good start, but find what works for you. That being said, HAVE FUN AND BE SAFE! 🤗🤗🤗🤗
> 
> Third, as usual, this is un-beta'd so all errors are my own.
> 
> Fourth, a special shout-out to the wonderful doll, jjonesin4! She helped inspo me with her knowledge of boxing equipment. 😉😉😉
> 
> Finally, I does the Tumblr! Sometimes I do things like post sneak peeks of my work? Come play with me @sunshinebunnie. 😊😊😊

In nearly ten years of friendship, Veronica Lodge could count on one hand the number of times she’d ever seen Betty Cooper get well and truly “white girl wasted.” The scene that had greeted her when she’d gotten home from Reggie’s the Sunday of Labor Day weekend had put each and every one of those times to shame. Betty had single-handedly polished off three and a half bottles of wine, and then had drunkenly decided to “stress bake” a batch of chocolate chip cookies. At least, that’s what Veronica assumed had happened based on finding Betty, sprawled on her kitchen floor, partially slumped over a large mixing bowl, egg shells and flour scattered all over the counter, a bottle of canola oil open, and a container of non-dairy creamer sitting next to a partially filled measuring cup. Veronica knew better than to try moving the young Cooper woman, so instead she grabbed a decorative throw pillow from her living room couch and propped it under her friend’s head. Removing the bowl from her arms so she could throw out the poorly conceived cookie “dough,” the brunette shook her head as she said to herself, “I do not envy you the headache you will have when you awake.” Grabbing a glass from one of the cabinets adjacent to her refrigerator, she filled it with some filtered water and quickly wrote out a note that said “DRINK ME,” in case Betty was still a little drunk when she woke up. Satisfied that her friend was probably safe for the moment, she headed off to bed curious to hear the story behind Betty’s current situation in the morning. 

*************************************************************************************

 

Betty was dying. It was the only logical explanation for why  _ everything  _ hurt from her eyelashes to her toenails. 

 

She cautiously cracked open one eye and immediately regretted her decision as she recoiled from the unpleasant brightness. Then, her brain slowly registered the enticing smell of coffee. “Juggie?” she tentatively croaked out.

 

There was a familiar throaty laugh, then “Nope.”

 

“V?” she asked confused. “Where’s Jug?”

 

Veronica methodically sipped her espresso, shrugging as she said, “Not sure.”

 

Something about the way her friend responded seemed off to Betty. If Veronica was sitting in her apartment drinking coffee, surely Jughead must have been responsible for letting her in. Slowly—far more slowly than if she hadn’t been epically hungover—her mind brought back the events of the day before. The young woman began hyperventilating as she muttered “ _ oh no oh no oh no _ ” over and over in an increasingly panicked voice.

 

Quickly recognizing her friend’s impending panic attack, the brunette slipped off her bar stool and rushed to Betty’s side. Kneeling down, she rhythmically stroked the blonde’s hair as she made indistinguishable comforting noises. Despite Veronica’s fast intervention, it still took Betty the better part of fifteen minutes for her to calm down enough for Veronica to understand what she’d been frantically mumbling. 

 

Trusting her best friend was stable enough for the moment, V leaned away from her as she finally asked, “B, what do you mean you  _ left _ Jughead in Riverdale?” 

 

The Lodge woman physically cringed at the heartbreaking sob that escaped Betty’s mouth. Taking a deep shuddering breath, Betty tried to calm down enough to tell V what happened, but even still, the best she could manage was a disjointed, sob-punctuated monologue. “Juggie and I…. _ sob _ ….Riverdale for Labor Day… _ sob _ ...waterfall... _ sob _ ... most perfect moment of my life... _ sob _ ...but Alice... _ sob _ …. barbecue... _ sob _ ...and Chic... _ sob _ ... _ AND I THINK JUG AND I BROKE UP _ !” 

 

Veronica blinked slowly as she attempted to sift through the jumbled thoughts B had dumped on her. Starting with the clearest piece of information the blonde divulged, she gently prodded, “I thought you were dating Tall, Dark, and Dreamy?” 

 

“I am!” Betty wailed before amending a second later, “or at least I  _ was _ . I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me for running out on him at my parents’.” 

 

“Okayyyyy,” V dragged out. “So you took Tall, Dark and Dreamy AND Jughead to Riverdale this weekend?” the brunette puzzled out.

 

Veronica had  _ never _ seen Betty roll her eyes so hard in her life. The Cooper woman enunciated each of her next words extra slowly as if her best friend was the one hungover. “Jug  _ IS _ Tall, Dark, and Dreamy.” 

 

A long second passed as V carefully processed her friend’s statement. Finally, she said, “So let me get this straight. You brought your boyfriend, who also happens to be your roommate, up to Riverdale to meet Alice ‘I am become Death’ Cooper?” The look B gave her told her everything she needed to know. 

 

“This requires something stronger than coffee,” the brunette eventually said. Betty groaned, already feeling her liver beginning to protest, but she tamped the objections down in favor of continuing to drown her broken heart until she felt nothing except numbness. 

 

By the third shot of rum, Betty no longer felt like she was falling apart at the seams. It made it easier for her to tell V the whole story of her and Jughead’s ill-fated nascent relationship. The words poured out of her. How she spent  _ weeks  _ wearing the skimpiest clothing she owned around him trying to figure out if he had any interest in her. About how he’d spontaneously asked her to show him how she liked the dishes cleaned, and now did the dishes every night whenever she cooked. She gushed about how his kisses made her feel like she was flying, and was uncharacteristically frank about how easily he was able to make her orgasm. It wasn’t until she started telling Veronica about how he’d held her when she told him about Chic, and about how he’d tried to provide a buffer between her and one of her mom’s more maniacal plans while they were in Riverdale, that she broke down in hysterics again. 

*************************************************************************************

“Archie,” the petite brunette said for the tenth time. “ARCHIE!” 

 

She sighed in frustration. Veronica had locked herself in her bedroom to call the redhead, unable to listen to Betty’s drunken off-key renditions of  _ “Need You Now _ ” or “ _ Baby _ ” any longer. Unfortunately, her mission was being complicated by the fact that Archie was in the back of a bar in Philadelphia, taking a break from a pop-up gig Reggie had organized for him. 

 

“Sorry, V!” she finally heard Archie say, the background noise on his end noticeably quieter. “I managed to convince the manager to let me use his office for a few minutes. What’s going on?”

 

“You need to help me, Archikins,” Veronica said with suppressed desperation. “I love B, but if she doesn’t go home soon, I may just kill her.”

 

Archie laughed. “Oh, c’mon, Ronnie! It’s Betty. I’m sure it can’t be that bad?”

 

Veronica rubbed her throbbing temple with one hand as she gripped her phone a little tighter in the other. She huffed out through her nose as she tried to figure out how to explain the situation in a way her sometime-boyfriend could understand. “Betty thinks Jughead broke up with her!” she finally blurted out.

 

The silence on the other end of the phone stretched on to the point that the Lodge woman actually checked the screen to see if the call was still connected. 

 

“Did you hear what I said?” she said more annoyed, hating having to repeat herself.

 

More silence. Finally, the young Andrews man said in a confused tone, “But how could they break up when they’re not dating?”

 

V rubbed her temple even harder, silently praying for Divine Intervention to send her some kind of deliverance. She said her next few words exceedingly slowly, “Well, Archikins, sometimes when a man and a woman live together, they develop feelings for each other. Feelings that go  _ beyond _ just friendship, that is.”

 

There was a much shorter pause before Archie said with recognition, “ _ Oh! _ You mean like Alicia Silverstone and Paul Rudd in  _ Clueless _ !”

 

Ronnie shook her head. It was probably the closest she was going to get, so she said, “Yeah, sure. Like that. My point is, they were dating and now Betty thinks they broke up and I cannot deal with listening to another drunken Betty Cooper cover of Lady Antebellum or Bishop Briggs. I just  _ can’t _ , Arch.” 

Ever the pragmatist, Archie enthusiastically said, “Maybe you could suggest some new songs!”

 

As if on cue, Veronica could faintly hear Betty’s voice belting out the opening lines of  Jefferson Starship’s “ _ Jane _ .” It was hardly an improvement as she picked up on the distinct sounds of Betty bawling before she even got through the first verse. 

 

“ _ Not the point _ , Archie,” she said through gritted teeth. 

 

There was some muffled speaking on Archie’s end of the phone before the redhead turned his attention back to the annoyed brunette back in New York. “Sorry, Ron. I need to get back on stage in ten more minutes.”

 

She huffed again. “Talk to Jughead. It’s been two weeks and Betty hasn’t heard a word even though she left him a note, and she’s tried calling and texting him  _ repeatedly _ for the past couple days.”

 

Veronica heard the young man make a small noise, and knew he was thinking the same thing she was: Jughead probably  _ was _ giving Betty an answer, it was just one she didn’t want. 

 

V said, “ _ Please _ , Archie. If nothing else, she deserves the closure of hearing him say it’s over,” with a slight plea in her voice. 

 

In her mind’s eye, she could see the earnest look that was probably coming over Archie’s face at that very minute. Ever the Boy Scout, he couldn’t resist helping a woman in need. Archie’s calming voice came through her phone clear as a bell saying, “I’m back in town on Thursday. I’ll see if I can get ahold of him then.”

 

Ronnie felt as if a stone wall had been miraculously lifted off her chest. “ _ Thank you, Archie _ !” she gushed, overwhelmed with gratitude and faith in his ability to fix what was wrong between their friends. She pointedly ignored the little voice in the back of her head that tried whispering perhaps Alice Cooper finally won for good this time. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

The banging reverberating throughout his apartment was merciless in both its volume and duration. A hand half-heartedly searched under his pillow in an attempt to “find” his phone to check the time--not that he really cared. He wasn’t getting out of bed any time soon.

 

As the banging stopped for a moment, Jug silently thanked whatever passing angel of mercy finally decided to take pity on him. Unfortunately, the brief respite from the added layer of his personal version of Hell was merely a harbinger of worse things to come. 

 

“I know you’re in there, hobo! The stench of desperation and self-loathing is leaking out into the hallway. Now  _ open _ this door!”

 

Jughead groaned. He had limited patience for the Red Menace at the best of times, and right now was about as far as he could imagine being from “the best of times.” Rolling over on to his stomach, he squeezed his eyes closed tighter hoping that he could just will her away.

 

“Last chance” came the shrill voice from outside in the hall. 

 

His hand grabbed blindly for an extra pillow to shove over his head. As he squashed the downy barrier over his ears, the faintest hint of vanilla-lavender reached his nose. Jug felt his heart compress like he was in the midst of a heart attack. It was a feeling he’d gotten used to over the past two-and-a-half weeks. Ever since he returned from Riverdale to a note on the dining room table in a lipstick-kissed envelope that he  _ still _ hadn’t worked up the courage to open. Even though he knew it was cowardly, he told himself that as long as he didn’t open what he was positive was a “Dear Jug” letter, he could pretend Betty was only out of town on business and not gone from his life for good.

 

The beginnings of his regularly-scheduled pity party were abruptly cancelled as his hazy brain registered the ominous clacking of heels on his hardwood floors. Moments later, a disdainful “Ugh! This place smells like a cross between a used ashtray and an overturned septic tank” floated over the half-wall between his room and the living room. 

 

‘It’s  _ just _ a nightmare,’ he told himself. ‘Watch--Alice Cooper, Gladys, Veronica Lodge, and Betty are all going to parade through here in a minute to remind you of  _ every _ poor life choice you’re ever made like a band of unrelenting Furies, and then you’ll wake up alone. Like you always do.’ He waited anxiously, the muscles in his shoulders already starting to knit themselves into steel knots.

 

Jughead was starting to suspect that the Wicked Witch of the West Side was  _ not _ in fact a figment of his imagination if her increasingly near not-so-dulcet voice was any indication. Suddenly, there was the sound of a disgusted sniff followed closely by his comforter being unceremoniously ripped off his bed. He curled in on himself reflexively from his unanticipated vulnerability. 

 

“My God. What are you trying to do? Marinate in your own filth?” echoed the redhead’s disapproval off the walls of his room.

 

He didn’t even attempt to get up as he croaked out, “And good morning to you too, Cheryl.”

 

Cheryl let out a sound that Jug assumed she intended to be a sarcastic laugh, but that just sounded like the beginnings of a cat coughing up a furball to him. The Jones man didn’t even need to see her face, he could just  _ hear _ her arched eyebrow as she spat out, “First, let’s be clear. I have no desire to be in this bijou rats’ nest you call an apartment any more than you want me to be here. But, you upset my TT, so now I’m here to set you straight. Second, it’s actually 6:17  _ p.m. _ , which you’d know, if your phone didn’t look like it recently practiced being an exploding glitter bomb in the middle of your living room.”

 

Jug had a vague memory of getting excessively loaded earlier the week before and dropping (more realistically throwing) his phone while looking over all of Betty’s texts that he saved. It certainly explained a lot. “Note to self,” he grumbled under his breath, “get spare key back from Toni.” 

 

Cheryl let out an amused laugh before saying, “That’s cute that you think I need a key to get in here. Now get out of that bed before I set it on fire.” 

 

He defiantly rolled to his side. A minute later, he heard a creaking floorboard then the distinctive click of a Zippo lighter. Jughead shot upright just as the soft yellow flame from his lighter began licking at the edge of his sheets. 

 

“ _ JESUS CHRIST, CHERYL!”  _ he shouted with a tinge of hysteria in his voice. 

 

The woman gave him an oddly serene look as she snapped the lighter shut with a sharp metallic click. “Good. You’re awake. I’ll be in the dining room when you’re done transforming into a human. Don’t take long.” With an imperious flick of her fire engine red mane, she purposefully strode out of his room without a second glance. 

 

Jug dropped back on to his mattress with a small “oof.” This was his life now. Hating humanity, trapped in his tomb-like apartment with a psychotic firebug, who apparently had a bone to pick with him. “Everybody dies of something,” he said under his breath as he started hauling himself out of bed. He moved slowly, steadfastly refusing to give the cherry bomb in his living room the satisfaction of ordering him around in his own home. Picking through the shirts on his floor, he searched for one that smelled the least ripe. Jughead momentarily debated whether he should keep his boxers on, but after not changing them for three days, he had to admit they were getting scuzzy in an embarrassing way. He quickly took them off before pulling on his closest pair of jeans, going commando out of necessity. 

 

The thought crossed his mind that it might be cheaper to pay Fangs to come do his laundry soon than buying all new clothes, he was getting that desperate. It wasn’t that he wanted to live on the razor’s edge of humanity: he had _tried_ to do laundry since getting back from Riverdale. It’d been fine until he stumbled across a pair of Betty’s panties balled up between his mattress and the footboard of his bed frame. He’d immediately walked out of his apartment, gotten a bottle of bourbon at the liquor store down the street, then proceeded to drink himself stupid in his kitchen listening to “ _Werewolves of London_ ” on repeat. There were no further attempts to do laundry. 

 

Adjusting his beanie out of habit, he shuffled out of his bedroom and stopped short. As much as he hated to admit it, Cheryl might actually have a point about his apartment being one tiny step away from a health and safety risk. Empty bottles littered nearly every available surface. Crushed cigarette packs were discarded all over along with several unemptied ashtrays. Then there were the empty food wrappers strewn about like a particularly vicious raccoon had infested his apartment. The downright filthiness of the place was an embarrassment, but what really got Jughead’s attention was just how eerily similar the scene looked to far too many of his dad’s benders when he was a kid. It was the grisly spectre of all F.P.’s past mistakes that broke what was left of his spirit as he trudged over to the dining room table to join Toni’s unimpressed girlfriend.

 

Something about his utter despondency must have spoken to the normally scathing woman because in a rare fit of decency, he found her reaching across the table to rest her hand comfortingly on his forearm. She seemed nearly as shocked by the gesture as he did. They sat awkwardly like that for some time, neither of them sure where exactly to go from there until Cheryl finally said, “When I first came over here, Jones, I completely intended to educate you on the error of your ways for hanging up on my TT when she told you we just got engaged and then dodging all her calls and texts since then. The engagement ring I got her is fabulous, by the way. But now that I see you, you’re actually making me sad.”

 

Jughead wasn’t entirely sure what to do with her declaration, so he just gave her a half-shrug and said, “You’re welcome?”

 

Cheryl rolled her eyes at him as if he was the dumbest person on the planet. “Well?” she prompted impatiently. “Why exactly are you  _ actually _ living like a hobo? I’m almost surprised you don’t have a barrel fire going in your living room.”

 

He gave her question a hard thought. There was no universe in which he would consider himself “friends” with Cheryl Blossom, but there was almost a certain beauty to that. He could pour out his soul to her the way that he would a stranger--with little care or concern for her actual opinion--simply using her as a living, breathing diary into which he could discard his most troubling inner thoughts, thereby lightening his soul. “I think my girlfriend dumped me,” he said quietly.

 

The redhead scoffed. “Is that all your problem is?”

 

Jug huffed at her dismissive attitude. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Not like you could possibly understand,” he grumbled.

 

She removed her hand from his arm and crossed her arms over her chest in a surprisingly aggressive stance. “Do you want to be broken up?” she asked archly.

 

He gaped at her like she was speaking Martian. “Of course not,” he started to answer, as if that was obvious, “but that’s…”

 

Cheryl started talking over him. “Then it’s simple. Don’t be broken up.”

 

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way, Cheryl…” he started to explain slowly.

 

The redhead rolled her eyes even harder at him. “When I caught my TT in bed with a man, did I accept that as the end of our relationship?” Jughead stared at her agog, not entirely sure what to do with that information. His stunned silence wound up being irrelevant as the bullheaded woman continued, “ _ No _ . I took her to Paris and fucked her for two weeks straight to remind her that she didn’t need any other lovers in her bed except me. And look how we turned out. Recently engaged and couldn’t be happier.”

 

Cheryl gave him a look as if the application of her story to his situation should be self-evident. He just continued staring back at her blankly. Finally, he said in a slow, drawn out way, “So...you’re saying...I should take Betty to Paris….?”

 

They continued looking at each other: Cheryl increasingly more frustrated by Jughead’s denseness, and he utterly at a loss as to what exactly she was suggesting he do. With a decisive head shake, she spelled out, “No, you beanie-wearing weirdo. I’m saying you need to make a grand gesture toward her, so that it’s clear to her that you’re not giving up on your relationship, no matter what it takes.” 

 

The wheels in his depression-fogged mind crept along trying to follow the young woman’s logic. Eventually, he heard himself saying, “Isn’t that what stalkers do?” which elicited an exasperated huff from her before she answered, “ _ Clearly _ , it’s not stalking if you get them  _ back _ .” He nodded slowly, not entirely sure what else to do to keep the flame-haired harpy placated. 

 

They sat in silence for several minutes until Cheryl finally piped up, “Good chat, hobo. Now, get a new phone ASAP, so you can spend the appropriate amount of time grovelling your way back into my TT’s good graces for so callously disregarding her feelings during one of the happiest times of her life.” Before Jug had a chance to say anything else, the tornado that was Cheryl Blossom had already zoomed its way back out of his apartment. 

 

He looked back over the apartment and sighed. If he wanted to have  _ any _ chance of possibly winning Betty back, he figured he should probably start with making their home look infinitely less like a landfill. Going over to where Betty stored the extra trash bags under their kitchen sink, he grabbed a few and set to work making their apartment habitable again. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

If not for the fact that it was 10 a.m. and it was Archie, Jughead might’ve dialed back the force of his knocking; however, since he knew his friend was nearly as heavy of a sleeper as he was, and it was late enough in the morning not to disturb anyone with a real job, he knocked as hard as he could. His knuckles were raw by the time his friend answered the door, sweaty, in a pair of loose fitting athletic shorts, eating a waffle. 

 

“Jug!” Archie said happily. “I was hoping you were going to be around today.”

 

“A waffle? Really, Arch?” Jughead said with a fair amount of disbelief as he gingerly stretched out his fingers. 

 

“What? It’s important for adequate cell recovery to carbo-load after a hard workout,” the redhead said matter-of-factly. 

 

Jug shook his head. Of course Archie would prioritize a post-workout snack over someone banging on his door for fifteen minutes. No one other than  his friend would fail to interpret the incessant knocking as a sign of _urgency_. ‘Perhaps if my knock sounded more like Veronica’s he would’ve answered in the first minute,’ the Jones man thought a little uncharitably. He shook his head to himself. ‘ _Remember_ _why you’re here. You need his help to get Betty back._ ’

 

Archie opened the door wider and waved his waffle companionably at his friend, ushering him into the apartment with a grin. The dark-haired man followed his neighbor through the open door. 

 

Although Jughead had been in the apartment on several prior occasions, he was a little taken aback by the “homey touches” Veronica appeared to have left all over the place. Instead of the bare walls he was accustomed to, there were several framed photos and a….painting?...of the petite brunette taking up most of the available vertical real estate in the redhead’s living room. He fought hard not to say the first thing that popped into his mind, so he shoved one of Archie’s extra waffles in his mouth as he sat down at the open chair in the breakfast nook. Chewing very slowly, Jughead tried to formulate his thoughts before he sprung what was sure to be a pretty big shock on his friend. 

 

Archie looked at his friend in an open, transparently appraising way. While the redhead wouldn’t necessarily say that he was in the best shape he’d ever seen, the Jones man didn’t look the total drunken wreck he was expecting based on Ronnie’s description of Betty. It was looking increasingly more likely that Jug wasn’t talking to the blonde because he  _ didn’t want _ to talk to her. 

 

“So, you and Betty, huh?” Archie said after a minute.

 

Jughead just about choked on his waffle. Before he had a chance to ask how Archie knew about them, the redhead volunteered, “Ronnie told me. Betty’s been staying with her since she got home.” The Jones man sighed heavily. 

 

“Archie, I need your help. Things between me and Betty kind of blew up while we were in Riverdale, and now we haven’t spoken in nearly three weeks. I want to do something special so that she  knows just how much I care about her, and I was hoping you might be able to help,” Jug said, his voice trailing off at the very end.

 

Archie positively beamed as he eagerly responded, “Of course, Jug! What can I do?”

 

As the black haired young man told the Andrews man his plan, the musician’s grin got wider and wider. He was more than happy to help Jug try to win Betty back, and he knew Veronica would be happy to help too. 

*************************************************************************************

Ronnie had absolutely  _ refused _ to tell Betty anything about their plans for the evening other than that they were having a much needed girls’ night and that she should make sure to look extra hot. Betty honestly would’ve killed for a night in with a couple bottles of wine and some ice cream; however, since her best friend had graciously been hosting her for three weeks, if V said she wanted a girls’ night out, then a girls’ night out they would have. 

 

Betty’s sense of obligation to keep Veronica happy evaporated the minute their Uber dropped them off at the Whyte Wyrm. 

 

“ _ Seriously _ ?” the pissed off blonde hissed at her best friend. “Of  _ all _ the bars in the entire tri-state area,  _ this _ is the bar you need to come to for girls’ night?” Her incredulity at her friend’s uncharacteristic cruelty dripped heavily off each word.

 

V scoffed. “Reggie and Archie set up a  _ super _ last minute pop-up gig for Archie since the sets he did last week during his road trip went over so well, and you know I would do anything to support my Archikins. Besides, I have it on  _ excellent _ authority that Jughead will not be in the audience tonight.”

 

B gave her an assessing look. After three weeks of not hearing from Jug, she’d begun experiencing the “anger” stage of grief, and couldn’t guarantee that if she ran into him inside the bar that she would be able to maintain her civility. She spoke very clearly and slowly as she said, “Veronica, if this is some kind of an ambush…”

 

The young Lodge woman emphatically shook her head. “B,  _ I swear _ . I would not do that to you. The only people who are going to be sitting at our table tonight are you, me, and Reggie.  _ Promise! _ ” 

 

Betty stared into the brunette’s butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth look, and felt a distinct sense of unease, but decided to overlook it. ‘Besides,’ she told herself, ‘it’s not like Veronica has a monopoly on ordering Ubers. I can always leave if I get in there and I see him sitting with Reggie.’ Giving her friend a perfunctory nod of assent, the two women walked down the stairs into the bar.

 

The tension in Betty’s shoulders eased considerably as they entered the bar and her quick scan of the room failed to turn up any grey knit beanies. Comfortable that she was unlikely to have an unintended run-in with Jug, she casually followed her wake-making best friend as the shorter woman cut a quick path through the swathe of bodies in the bar to a small table in the front where Reggie was sitting alone. He rose when they saw him giving the brunette a quick but memorable kiss before pulling out a chair for Betty. 

 

“Ladies,” Reggie said in a smooth voice that Betty normally associated with car salesmen, “I was almost starting to think you weren’t coming.”

 

The Cooper woman was so busy explaining how their tardiness was “entirely her fault” because “V kept vetoing the outfits” she wanted to wear that she completely missed the look her companions shared across the table. Her apologetic rambling was abruptly cutoff by the bar’s house lights dimming, and the bright footlights at the edge of the stage illuminating a shirtless and surprisingly heavily tattooed Archie cradling his guitar. Betty cut a quick glance at her friend as a thirsty gasp tore through most of the collective women in the bar--as well as some of the men--at the sight, only to see Veronica preening as if the main attraction of the evening had a DNR-type tattoo across his chest that read “Property of Veronica Lodge.”

 

Archie’s new hard core stage look was offset by the surprisingly tender themes in his songs. If Betty was being totally honest, it was actually a pretty jarring mix. During a short pause between numbers, the blonde leaned over the table and asked Reggie, “So, what’s the deal with Archie’s new look?”

 

Reggie cut her a wide grin. “It’s great, right?” he replied enthusiastically. “The early social media feedback we’ve collected from Archie’s recent set of road shows suggests that his core demographic--18 to 34 year-old women--are  _ dying _ over his bad-boy-just-searching-for-a-good-woman schtick. Downloads of his singles have been insane after each of his shows this month.”

 

Betty nodded along. Although Veronica was more than welcome to keep Archie, the blonde couldn’t deny that her own panties didn’t get soaked at the thought of a certain broody misanthrope that was all cream puff around her….at least he used to be...most of the time. Before she had a chance to go too far down the nostalgia highway, Archie’s voice was cutting over the bar’s sound system. “This next song goes out to a very special lady. She knows who she is.”

 

The blonde glanced over at Ronnie, who was beaming like Archie hung the moon. As much as she hated to admit it, her best friend’s happiness set a bit of an ugly, sour feeling to work in her stomach. 

 

All of a sudden, her ears recognized the opening notes of the song, and her eyes swiftly pivoted back to the stage. There, in his dark jeans, white suspenders hanging down over his plaid flannel knotted around his hips, wearing a fitted cornflower blue t-shirt with a dark grey “S” on it, was Jughead. His eyes were lasered onto Betty’s seat as he and Archie started singing, “ _ She...she screams in silence...a sullen riot penetrating through her mind...waiting for a sign...to smash the silence with the brick of self-control. _ ”

 

She felt flushed as the words of the song continued to wash over her. 

 

“ _ Are you locked up in a world...that’s been planned out for you...are you feeling like a social tool without a use...scream at me until my ears bleed...I’m taking heed just for you. _ ”

 

Suddenly, Archie’s voice cut out, and Betty felt Jughead’s voice like razor wire against her soul as he belted out, “ _ She...she’s figured out….all her doubts were someone else’s point of view...waking up this time...to smash the silence with the brick of self-control _ .” 

 

Betty started feeling light-headed, and she couldn’t tell if the roaring in her ears was real or just a side effect of being so close to the speakers. She hardly even realized that Archie and Jug had finished their cover version of “ _ She _ ” as she quickly stood up, saying to no one in particular, “I can’t be here right now,” right before she fled. 

*************************************************************************************

She aimlessly wandered the streets of downtown Manhattan for over an hour as she struggled to sort through the evening’s events. It was obviously an ambush, that much she felt pretty confident about, but she wasn’t sure what it was supposed to  _ mean _ . Betty knew there was no way that Archie just  _ happened _ to have that specific Green Day song floating around in his repertoire of covers to randomly bust out at his pop-up shows--which meant that was  _ all _ Jughead. There was the rub though. It was an odd choice given that she was pretty sure that  _ he _ broke up  _ with her _ , yet the lyrics suggested that he wanted to be there for her...as if he thought  _ she’d _ left  _ him _ and he was trying to get her back. 

 

Betty was so caught up in her roiling thoughts that she didn’t even realize she’d walked all the way back to their neighborhood until she started passing the liquor store they normally stopped at. She walked about a quarter of the way past the store when she stopped. Her anger began bubbling to the surface a little as she paced a small track back and forth debating her next move. 

 

“God! Who does he think he is?!” she muttered excitedly to herself.

 

The pacing increased.

 

“Where does he get off? Looking sexy as fuck. Singing my personal anthem in front of all those people. Staring at me with those smoldering eyes like he wanted to tear my clothes off right there on stage.” The pitch of her muttering got higher the faster she paced until she was practically shrieking about Jug tearing off her clothes in the middle of the street. She found herself getting more than a few disapproving looks as the volume of her ranting got louder. 

 

With a hissed “Fuck it,” Betty strode into the liquor store, emerging a short time later with the handles of a black and gold plastic bag wrapped tightly around her fingers. 

 

Her key twisted easily in the lock of 3BC, which she found strangely endearing. Like Jug had just been waiting for her to come home all along. She carefully pushed open the door and waited, listening for any sign that he was already there. There was almost a tomb-like quality to the apartment’s silence. 

 

As she walked deeper into the apartment, Betty started feeling her anger-fueled bravado begin to dissipate. What exactly was she planning to do when he got home anyway? The blonde rounded the corner into their kitchen area and her eyes instantly fell on her unopened note laying  _ exactly  _ where she’d left it three weeks earlier. Her rage immediately returned tenfold. She set her bag from the liquor store down on the dining room table with a dull “thump,” before rummaging around the apartment for a few supplies. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Jughead was still cursing himself for listening to Cheryl’s ridiculous advice as he unlocked the door to his place two hours after Archie’s show ended. If not for the fact that he would’ve screwed his friend over after Arch agreed to do him the favor in the first place, Jug would’ve run after Betty from the stage—finishing the set be damned. Instead, he forced himself to finish the rest of the set list he’d agreed to play, all the while feeling like he was about to drop dead from spontaneous heart failure. 

 

It was over between them and he just needed to accept it. 

 

He finally realized that he wasn’t alone when he walked into the kitchen and saw lights that he definitely didn’t remember leaving on softly illuminating the living room. Setting down his bass guitar case, he tentatively called out, “Hello?” 

 

A second later, there was a sound from his room, followed shortly thereafter by Betty standing in his door frame in a skimpy black lace bustier with a matching black lace thong holding a bottle of tequila in one hand and what appeared to be one of his boxing wraps in the other. He just stared at her. She stalked over to him coming to a stop a couple feet away—just far enough outside his wingspan to prevent him from pulling her closer. 

 

“It looks like you’ve been a bad boy, Jughead,” Betty said in a husky, lust-tinged voice. 

 

He swallowed thickly as she continued, “And now it looks like I need to punish you.” 

 

Jug was sure that there was something he was supposed to be saying or doing at that moment, but nothing came to mind as all the blood in his body was staying steadfastly in his rock hard cock. 

 

Betty inched a little closer to him so that he could see her more clearly in the intimate lighting. His tongue suddenly felt thick in his mouth as he was able to see her taut nipples poking against the scratchy material of the bustier’s bra cups. Jug felt his eyes drop lower until he was staring hungrily at her barely hidden pussy. 

 

“ _ Betts _ ,” he growled when he finally regained some of his faculties. 

 

“Uh uh uh,” she tsked him. She turned without another word, and began walking back toward his room, fully expecting him to follow. 

 

Although the haughty move struck him more like something Cheryl or Veronica would pull, he couldn’t deny that he was dying to see what the blonde had in store. He followed without another word. 

 

By the time he reached his bedroom, Betty had put the bottle of tequila down on his bedside table and was twirling his wrap around on her index finger by the thumb strap. He arched an eyebrow in a sardonic questioning glance, to which all she said was “ _ Strip _ .” 

 

Even though he hadn’t felt as hard as he did in weeks, he didn’t want to seem too eager. She  _ had  _ left him after all, he reasoned. He didn’t need to make it super easy for her to get back in his pants despite his body’s thoughts on the subject. Jug peeled off each layer of clothing with painful slowness, loving how increasingly ravenous Betty looked the longer he teased her. By the time he was down to just his boxers, she was straight up growling at him in frustration. His cock could’ve cut through diamond.

 

As he slipped his hands under the cotton waistband of his underwear, he heard Betty say in a dark, suggestive voice, “Are you familiar with safe words, Juggie?” 

 

His chest seized up: the incongruity of needing safe words for whatever they were about to do at such odds with her use of the pet name she had for him. Eventually, he quietly said, “Yes.”

 

“Do you feel comfortable using them with me?” she asked, hope and fear lancing through her words in equal measure. 

 

Jug held her gaze telegraphing his own lust and desire as he replied more steadily, “Yes.”

 

The boxing wrap Betty had slowly been swinging around dropped limply as she abruptly stopped feeding its circular momentum. She briefly glanced at the material in her hand before cutting her eyes back toward the naked man standing mere feet away. “How do you feel about being restrained?” the blonde asked cautiously. 

 

Jughead swallowed. If he was being completely honest, the idea wasn’t high on his list. An assignment he’d taken to document the conditions in some of the worst  _ favelas _ in Brazil had gone awry, and he’d wound up bound and gagged, at the mercy of one of the local gangs. It was one of the things he’d spent a lot of time working through with his therapist. ‘I know Betty, and I trust her,’ he thought to himself as he mulled over his answer. ‘Perhaps this will help me completely erase that memory of being tied up by replacing it with a much better one.’ Taking a deep breath, he said, “Just my hands and no gags if you’re tying me up.”

 

Betty sensed there was a story there, but figured there would be a better time to probe for it. Instead, she asked, “What safe word do you want to use?”

 

Without skipping a beat, Jug said, “ _ Alice _ .” The blonde grimaced at the choice, but she realized that was the point. If  _ any _ word ever had the power to pull her out of headspace in the middle of play, it would be her mother’s name. 

 

She stalked over to him slowly, letting her deliberate pacing fuel the palpable tension building between them. When she was finally standing in front of him, she delicately ran her fingertips over his toned chest, admiring the way his flesh broke out in a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Nuzzling against his neck, she could smell the heady aroma of his natural musk, enhanced by the dried layer of salty sweat covering him after being onstage under the scorching footlights with Archie. He shivered a little as the cool exhale of her breath whispered over his responsive skin. Without meaning to, he found himself half wishing, half pleading as he moaned, “Betts.”

 

Something about his voice brought her back to herself as she nibbled on his earlobe, saying “I’m going to tie you up now, Juggie.”

 

He just nodded mutely.

 

Taking his left wrist in her hand, she carefully threaded the loose end of the wrap through the thumb loop then slipped the makeshift lariat over his hand before tightening it until it lay flush against his sun-kissed skin. Using the loose end like a leash, she gently but firmly lead Jug back to the bed, directing him to lay down on it with his hands grasping at his antique brass headboard. As Betty tenderly pressed his fingers around the cool metal tubing, she whispered, “You’re safe, Jug. I’ve got you,” before she threaded the loose end of the wrap through the headboard like a loom then tied it off, keeping him quite secure against the frame. 

 

Betty leaned away from him for a moment allowing him to get comfortable with the idea of being partially restrained. The muscles of his forearm flexed as he tested the security of her handiwork. He was impressed with her knot-tying skills. Catching her eyes, he gave a small nod to let her know he was okay with her continuing. 

 

She made much shorter work of tying down his right hand after she grabbed his other wrap from where she’d draped it on his pillow. Once again though, she gave him a minute to get used to his new vulnerability before proceeding, not wanting to rush him into anything he didn’t feel entirely safe or comfortable doing. 

 

Jughead gripped the cool metal with a crushing grasp as he focused on taking steady, even breaths to remain calm. ‘I know Betty won’t harm me. I’m safe in this moment,’ he repeated in his mind on a loop until he finally felt his heartbeat start to slow down from its sudden adrenaline spike. He took one last steadying breath before he found Betty’s green crystalline eyes again and decisively said, “I’m good.” 

 

With that, Betty crawled on top of him teasing his rigid cock with the soaking scrap of lace covering her pussy. He bit back a deep moan as she ground herself against him, not wanting her to know quite how badly he’d been craving her touch. 

 

The barely suppressed giggle that broke from her lips told him that she knew anyway.

 

“You look like you could use a drink, Jug,” Betty crooned suggestively. Then, in the blink of an eye, she was leaning over his torso to grab the bottle of tequila off the side table, the erect peaks of her barely-covered breasts brushing over his partially open  lips as she did. He was able to briefly wrap his lips around one nipple before she pulled away with a slight noise of disapproval. It took everything within him not to whimper at the loss. 

 

She scooted further down his body until she was straddling his lower thighs just above his knees. While Betty would’ve loved to have blown Jug’s mind by being a total badass, ripping the stopper out of the tequila bottle with her teeth, carelessly spitting it out across the room, she’d tried the move with a bottle of Casa Dragones once in college and nearly chipped a tooth as she wrenched the stopper out. As it was, she wound up carefully working the stopper loose with her hand until the cork base gave way with a distinctive “pop” while Jug waited patiently, the ghost of an amused smile threatening to break out across his face. 

 

Whatever amusement he was feeling instantly vanished as the sexy blonde perched above him slowly dribbled a trickle of the blanco tequila down the light indentation of his abs then quickly leaned over to lick the alcohol off him before it had a chance to drip down the sides of his torso. Betty feinted like she was going to sit back up again, but at the last minute she moved her mouth so that she could run the rough flat of her tongue over his own aroused nipples. His chest rumbled with a groan he was unable to tamp down in time. 

 

He groaned again when he felt her lightly bounce against his legs, pleased with the effect she knew she was having on him. As she sat up straighter, her weight bore down even harder against him, and she could see his erect cock slightly twitch in response. 

 

“You did a bad thing, Juggie,” Betty crooned as she looked deep into his lust-blown pupils.

 

“Really?” he struggled to breathe out.

 

“Yes,” she replied. “You didn’t read the note I left you.”

 

He cringed as much as his body was able to given his tied up state. Although he doubted Betty would think less of him, a not insubstantial part of him didn’t want to admit his cowardice to her. 

 

“I couldn’t,” he finally whispered.

 

She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in skepticism at his answer. 

 

The silence dragged on between them as Betty patiently waited for Jug to expound on his response, while he fruitlessly hoped she wouldn’t probe too deeply into it.

 

As the seconds ticked by, she eventually gave a little huff of frustration then dragged her nails over his meticulously manscaped testicles. He responded with a forced wheeze from the unexpected stimulation, then found himself  quietly admitting, “As long as I didn’t read it, I could pretend you hadn’t left me.”

 

Betty’s gasp immediately riveted his eyes to her face. She looked almost comical the way her eyes were opened unnaturally wide in her shock. Resting the cool glass bottle against the outside of his thigh, she managed to sputter out, “You thought  _ I _ left  _ you _ ?”

 

Jug gave her a quizzical look as he said, “Well... _ yeah _ .”

 

“You’re an idiot,” the blonde said a little caustically.

 

The captive man kept gawking at her.

 

With a frustrated sigh, Betty defensively added, “ _If you’d read_ _the letter_ , you’d have seen _my apology_ for running out on you at my parents’. _Again_. And you’d have saw that I recognized you might want a few days to sort through your feelings about me and our relationship in light of what I did, and that I went to stay at V’s to give you some space to think in peace.”

Jughead stared at her in shock.

 

Betty continued on, her voice building up steam now that her emotional dam had been breached. “I said  _ I’d wait for you to contact me first _ because I didn’t want you to feel pressured into speaking to me before you felt ready. Because I didn’t want us to just sweep what happened in Riverdale under the rug until it festered and ate away at our relationship from the inside.” Some of the tequila from the open bottle splashed across his hip bone as her hand knocked against his leg. 

 

“I told you I loved you,” she mindlessly barreled on as her emotions completely overtook her faculties. “I said I meant to tell you before, and then everything happened, and I was afraid I’d never get the chance, and I didn’t want you to make a decision about our relationship without knowing how I felt about you.”

 

Jug felt like he was suffocating: each of Betty’s words another lead brick weighing on his chest, compressing his lungs. He closed his eyes, ashamed of all the unnecessary pain and heartache he’d unintentionally caused both of them because of his stupid cowardice.

 

Before Betty had a chance to emotionally steamroll him again, he heard himself whispering, “I love you, Betty Cooper.”

 

The ensuing pause in Betty’s monologue stretched on for so long that Jug was beginning to wonder if Betty had a stroke and he didn’t realize it. She gave him one long, slow blink, and then another before saying, “Excuse me?”

 

He took a deeper breath to fortify his confidence, then repeated, “I love you, Betty.”

 

It was Betty’s turn to gawk.

 

“You have no idea how many times I’ve been on the verge of telling you. For months now, actually,” he babbled. “But something always came up, or I stopped myself because I thought it was too soon and I didn’t want to scare you off.”

 

Betty just kept staring at him in shock.

 

He raced to fill the silence afraid of what would happen if they both just stopped talking entirely. “I saw you everywhere around the apartment. And I wanted to talk to you, but I convinced myself you’d left me for good this time. Then, when I finally worked up the courage to just  _ call you _ , even if only to hear your voice, Toni called me to let me know that she and Cheryl got engaged. I’d been rereading some of our texts from when we were up in Riverdale when she called, and I couldn’t handle it. I chucked my phone against the wall and it exploded into  pieces.”

 

“Oh Juggie…” he heard her quietly murmur.

 

“I wasn’t really fit to be around people for awhile after that,” he added in embarrassment, remembering just how badly he’d allowed himself to sink into his depressive state. “I only just replaced my phone yesterday,” he tacked on a little lamely. 

 

Without warning, Betty burst out laughing causing Jug to deflate. The sudden loss of his erection only caused the blonde to laugh harder, forcing her to squeeze her thighs tighter against his legs to keep herself upright. Tequila splashed across his torso as she banged his hip with the open bottle with every other fit of laughter. 

 

Jughead glared at her until the young woman finally managed to regain her composure. Wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, she managed to say between intermittent giggles, “You know, Jug, for two people who work in publishing, we have  _ the worst _ track record of communicating.” She burst into laughter again. 

 

He cracked a small smile. Although his ego was more than a little bruised at the timing of her laughing fit, he had to admit that he could certainly see the humor in their situation. Since he felt like being pouty though, he quipped dryly, “That’s all you, Cooper. I just take pictures.” 

 

Betty sobered up surprisingly quickly—as if she’d just remembered what she’d been trying to do before she became incapacitated by laughter. Her green eyes darkened as she gazed at him with a renewed hunger. “Well,” she purred, “since you like to watch, perhaps I should give you something to look at.”

 

His cock started to stir at the promise in her words. 

 

Pushing down the cups of her bustier with her free hand, Betty carefully tipped the tequila over her exposed breasts letting the agave liquor trickle down over her aching nipples. Jug strained against his restraints, desperate to capture her tantalizing milky skin in his mouth. The woman trapping him with her body teased him relentlessly in response—leaning  _ just _ far enough forward for him to believe he could finally taste her only to sit back on her haunches at the last minute. 

 

He growled in frustration by the sixth time she did it. The sound of her name as he said “ _ Betts _ ” came across as a warning and a supplication at the same time. She gave him an unrepentantly impish look as she saucily replied, “Say the magic word.” 

 

Jug could easily make out the effect the gravelly timbre of his voice had on her as she tried and failed to suppress an involuntary shiver as he said, “ _ Now _ .” 

 

“ _ Uh uh, _ ” she answered in a quietly breathy moan. 

 

“Betty,” he tried again, filling the one word with all of the overwhelming lust he was consumed by. 

 

She shot him a sly look before she arched her back in an exaggerated cat-like pose, using her thumb to keep the bottle of tequila somewhat capped off. When she was done giving him an unobstructed view of her perky breasts, she gave a dramatic sigh then said, “All of this talking is making me so thirsty.” 

 

He gave her a slightly disbelieving look as he pointed out, “Guess it’s a good thing you’ve got a bottle of tequila  _ in your hand  _ then.” 

 

Betty looked at the bottle in mock surprise like she’d completely forgotten she’d been holding it the entire time. As she turned her attention back to the man partially pinned beneath her supple thighs, it was her turn for her voice to drop into a suggestive lower octave as she purred, “But Juggie, I can’t drink my tequila without salt to go with it.”

 

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Sweet Pea’s piped up in the back of his mind: ‘I got all the salt you need right here, darling.’ He quickly tamped the comment down before it had a chance to go for a walk out of his mouth. When Betty gracefully swung her leg over his thighs so that she could get off the bed, Jug had a momentary sense of panic that he had in fact said Pea’s lewd comment out loud. Much to his eternal gratefulness though, Betty had only gotten up to make it easier to remove her bustier.

 

His mouth watered as he watched her firmly squeeze and caress her tender breasts, an angry pink mark visible on the underside of her tits from where the bustier’s wiring had dug into her skin. She let out a particularly satisfied moan as she kneaded the soft flesh of her chest, paying special attention to her pert nipples—pinching and tugging on them as she massaged herself. Then, her eyes dropped to his crotch. They took on a hungry, appreciative glow as she drank in the sight of his erect cock, bobbing gently back and forth under its own weight. 

 

He couldn’t help preening under her gaze. “See something you want?” he taunted. Instead of verbally responding, Betty stalked back over to the bed, grabbing the tequila from where she’d set it down to remove her lingerie and easily swung herself up over his legs again. Jug had a split second to appreciate the evil glint in her eyes before she intentionally poured a hefty splash of tequila into a small divot created in the space between his hip bone and his pelvis. His body jerked from the unexpected sensation causing the alcohol to flow across his honeyed skin toward his throbbing cock. 

 

In the blink of an eye, Betty swooped down and swept up the escaping liquor with the rough flat of her tongue, just barely teasing the base of his cock. His body shuddered with need. Moving her lips to the junction between his thigh and his crotch, she sucked hard on the pooled tequila, leaving a blossoming hickey on the delicate skin near his cock. Jughead moaned earning a smug chuckle from the sexy blonde hovering above him.

 

She poured another splash of liquor along the lowest ridges of his abs, before slowly dragging her tongue over the flat planes of his torso, reveling in the peppery agave flavor of the alcohol mixed with the smoky musk of Jug’s skin. As Betty lapped at his skin like a kitten with a bowl of cream, she lazily scraped her nails over the underside of his testicles until she was able to tease his taint with the tip of her index finger. 

 

“ _ Betts _ ,” he pleaded shamelessly. “Baby,  _ please _ .” 

 

She cocked her head to the side studying him. With a mischievous look,  she tilted the tequila bottle  _ just enough _ so that she was able to drizzle a small ring of alcohol around the base of his pulsating shaft. Betty then set the bottle down on the floor beside the bed while she carefully gripped the warm velvety steel of his cock in her eager right hand. Holding him straight, she softly ran her hand up and down his length, teasing him with her feather-light touch as she loosened her jaw enough for her to fit each of his balls completely in her mouth, sucking him dry of the tequila rivulets she’d created earlier. 

 

Jughead hissed a little at the pressure on his testicles as Betty sucked on him, rolling each ball lightly around the inside of her mouth with her tongue to make sure she lapped up all of the alcohol off his tawny skin.  His hisses quickly turned into incoherent grunts as she moaned appreciatively around him, the vibrations running along his sac, straight to his cock, making him ache even more for her. 

 

Betty was grinning as she finally released her mouth from him, thoroughly enjoying the small whimper that escaped his lips. Gently gnawing on her bottom lip, she gazed up at him from underneath lust-hooded eyes. The corded muscles in his neck were straining like he was in the midst of a strenuous workout while he tugged on his bound hands like his life depended on it. She sat stock still on his knees for a moment until she was positive that she had his undivided attention. With deliberate slowness, she leaned back down over his pelvis keeping her mouth  _ just _ far enough away from Jughead’s weeping cock that he could feel the tickle of her exhalations against the head of his penis without getting any of the additional stimulation he so desperately craved. Then, without warning, she blew a cool stream of air out of her mouth directly across the slit in the tip of his dick. His hips violently jerked upwards causing his precum to smear across her pursed lips like some perverse type of lip gloss. 

 

The unexpected skin-to-skin contact caught them both off-guard for a second. However, their frozen shock was short-lived as Betty again worked to relax her jaw as best she could before devouring as much of his cock as possible into the wet, inviting cavern of her mouth. They mutually moaned from the sensation although whatever Betty intended to say came out much more garbled than Jughead’s appreciative “ _ Oh Betty _ ” based on the lack of available space in her mouth. 

 

Her oral ministrations were torturous in both the speed and the intensity of her sucking. It was almost enough for him to use his safe word--if only so that he’d be able to wrap his elegant fingers through the blonde tendrils of her hair, anchor himself somehow to the present, to his body, to something other than the jittery electricity coursing through his veins with every swipe of her tongue against his vibrating cock. He broke down with a sharp whine. “Betty, it’s too much! Please, let me touch you. Let me  _ taste  _ you. Please, Betts, something.” 

 

She sucked harder, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. 

 

Betty finally pulled away from him to briefly rub the side of her aching jaw, praying it wouldn’t lock up on her before she was finished with him. She appraised him with a hunger that scared her a little. In the few short months they’d known each other, he’d managed to slot himself into her soul like there was a piece she never realized was missing, and it suddenly pissed her off that he’d been so careless with her heart. 

 

“I should really just leave you like this,” she said with a softly muted threat.

 

There was a metallic jangle as Jughead fruitlessly rattled his bed frame pulling on his restraints. 

 

“It would certainly serve you right,” she added in an almost bored tone.

 

“Betty,” he keened desperately. 

 

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Orgasms are for good boys, Jug. Have you been very good recently?”

 

“I can do better. Let me show you. Please, baby, let me be good for you,” he babbled. 

 

“How?” she demanded. 

 

He looked at her in confusion.

 

Betty huffed. “How will you be good for me?” she prompted.

 

“I’ll do anything, Betts. Please,” he begged.

 

“Anything?” she asked slyly.

 

Jughead nodding enthusiastically.

 

“Will you love me?” she whispered.

 

“Absolutely,” he replied automatically.

 

Her hand resumed lazily stroking his greedy cock.

 

“Will you protect me?” the young woman probed.

 

“Always,” he said with a hitched breath as her fingers tugged lightly on the head of his dick.

 

“Will you trust me?” Betty said softly, her pillowy lips inching closer back toward his cock.

 

“With my life,” he said sincerely.

 

Betty’s mouth was close enough to his engorged cock that the barest lift of his hips would have him sliding inside. 

 

“ _ What about with mine? _ ” she breathed, the dangerous challenge lacing deceptively through each word.

 

The young man was too far gone in his lust and need to give much more thought to his answer than “Yes.”

 

Betty slid his aching dick into her mouth with practiced care massaging his pulsing shaft with coordinated swirls and swipes of her tongue. Jughead felt his soul take leave of his body as she pulled  _ just _ far enough off him to accentuate the force of her suction on his ultra sensitive head. His hips jerked earning him some light grazing along his delicate skin from the blonde’s teeth. Betty quickly soothed the unintended sting by generously laving his cock with her dexterous tongue.  

 

Jughead’s enthusiastic moans and writhing body spurred Betty on as she sucked him harder, head bobbing up and down over and over, her lips going numb from her mouth being stretched so wide for so long. She’d just begun fondling his balls in earnest when she felt them tighten. A moment later, Jug’s body jerked four quick times in succession as he filled her mouth with cum. Betty held it in her mouth for a minute while she grabbed the tequila, using the liquor as a chaser after she swallowed. 

 

The young man was still periodically twitching from the sheer force of his orgasm as Betty unbound his arms from his bed frame. The skin around his wrists looked like he had a rather aggressive case of rug burn from how forcefully he’d been pulling on his restraints at times, but it remained unbroken, and apart from the redness, he appeared to be fine. Content that he hadn’t been physically harmed when she tied him down, Betty curled up next to him, running her hand unconsciously over his torso in a soothing, repetitive motion.

 

Once his body had a chance to calm down from the intense stimulation she’d subjected it to, Betty asked, “So, how do you feel, Juggie?”

 

Jughead wrapped an arm around her, holder her closer to his chest as he propped his head up on his other arm before he replied, “Other than smelling like a distillery?” Betty let out a mildly embarrassed laugh as he continued, “Amazing, Betty, and I have you to thank for it.” He paused for a second to kiss the crown of her head. “I love you,” he said sincerely, overjoyed that he finally had the freedom to tell her as often as he wanted. 

 

Betty pressed a soft kiss over his heart. “I love you too, Jug,” she whispered. 

 

Within ten minutes, both of them were fast asleep--pulled into slumber by the warmth radiating between their bodies, their emotionally raw sexual exploits, and in Betty’s case, her liberal tequila consumption.


	16. If You Can't Walk, You Crawl....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty deals with some unwarranted childhood guilt, Jughead gaffes on party etiquette, and Toni doles out important pearls of wisdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off--my deepest apologies to all you faithful readers for the long delay in this installment. Life was kinda beating me up recently and I had less time for writing than I would've liked. Hopefully this beast of a chapter makes up for it! 
> 
> Second--THANK YOU to each and every one of you reading this right now for taking this journey with me. Each of you is amazingly wonderful!! May I also extend an EXTRA SPECIAL THANK YOU to all of you who take a moment to leave me a comment/reblog my work/leave a kudos/bookmark this story. The fact that you take the extra time to let me know how much you enjoyed my work truly means more to me than I can fully express. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!
> 
> Third--as usual, this is un-beta'd so I take full ownership over any and all errors and omissions.
> 
> Lastly--I plays around on the interwebs and occasionally drops sneaky snippets of my work. Come play with me on Tumblr @sunshinebunnie. 🤗🤗🤗🤗

For being the third week in October, it was almost unseasonably warm in Manhattan. Jughead could feel his hair developing a vaguely structural quality as the salt deposits from the sweat streaming down his skin became glued to the lock of hair perpetually falling into his face. For a split second, he considered taking off his iconic beanie, knowing that the poly-wool blend was not helping his cause. Ultimately though, he decided against it. He’d be home in four blocks--there was no reason to start messing around with his millinery choices now. 

 

Stopping for the sixth time to stretch out his hand and rub his lower back while he looked for a dry inch of shirt to mop his soaking wet forehead with, he thought, ‘Why the hell did I decide to walk home from the meeting at that gallery?’ He squinted at his oversized leather portfolio carrying case through his sweat-stung eyes, and grinned a little. That was right, he remembered. Jug wanted to surprise Betty with his good news, and knew he needed to burn off some of his excess energy before he got back to Jones Street if he was going to have any kind of shot at keeping cool. 

 

Jughead hated to admit it, but despite the deeply entrenched frenemy relationship he had with Cheryl, he’d learned over the years that she had a surprising generous streak that she would unleash on people at random. During one poker night several years before, Fangs had gotten drunker than normal, and had inadvertently let slip that his grandmother was probably going to lose her house. Some pushy developer had already managed to strong arm all her neighbors into selling below market, and he was worried about what she would do if the same thing happened to her. A couple weeks later, when Jug had gone to drop off his monthly payment for keeping his bike in Fangs’ grandma’s driveway, his friend had been positively ebullient. A mystery buyer had not only offered her a substantial premium above the market rate for her house, but had also included a guarantee in the deal to place the deed with a trust so that she could continue living in the house rent-free until she died. The whole situation had been so neat and tidy Jughead had serious questions about who exactly the “mysterious” buyer had been. It hadn’t taken much digging through ACRIS to learn that “Cherry Bomb Industries LLC” had purchased the property and from there for Jug to put two and two together about the LLC’s true beneficial owner. Cheryl had never admitted to it, but when he’d once made a crack about the entity’s name in passing, he hadn’t missed the tiny self-satisfied smile that started to break out across her face when she thought no one was looking. 

 

He hadn’t initially answered his phone when the gallery called. Given his extended “personal absence” after coming home from Riverdale, he had a ton of piled up work for  _ The Village Voice _ that he needed to sort through, so when he didn’t immediately recognize the number, he figured it wasn’t a big deal. When he finally listened to the voicemail from the gallery nearly three days later, he was in shock. One of the most preeminent photography galleries in Soho had been given a sample of his work, and wanted to speak with him about doing a larger installation. When he called the gallery back, he had to remind himself to act like the professional he was and not have a fan boy freak out moment. Even though he’d won numerous accolades for his photojournalism, he didn’t have much of a commercial market for his work. Few, if any, of the well-respected gallery owners came to him about his side projects such as the various fashion shoots he’d done for Cheryl over the years. At first, he hadn’t looked too closely at who must’ve pushed his sample portfolio along, but as he was preparing the larger, curated selection of his previously unseen work for his meeting, he had a moment of contemplation. In all his years in the industry, he could count on one hand the number of times this type of “random” good luck happened to him. The more he thought about it, the more the timing also seemed odd. He’d just emerged from the lowest point in his life and had just about stopped working completely for the better part of a month only to miraculously have this phenomenal opportunity drop in his lap? 

Those sorts of things did not happen in his life. 

 

The meeting confirmed his growing suspicions that Cheryl was behind the whole set-up when he saw the photos that inspired the gallery to call him. Most of them were of Cheryl, which Jughead knew could’ve been sourced from several different places. However, there were three or four photos of Toni modeling some of Cheryl’s more demure pieces that Toni had asked him to take as a surprise for her girlfriend. Since he knew that only three people could’ve possibly had access to  _ those _ pictures, and Toni didn’t have the type of contacts or influence to get him a meeting with this type of gallery, he’d known right then he’d been “Cherry Bombed.” Although a not-insignificant part of him was annoyed that it took the Red Menace seeing him hanging on to humanity by his fingernails to make some calls that she obviously could’ve made all along--the photos of Toni were a good three years old--he was grateful all the same. When he was unattached, he could follow the work--and if that meant likely getting shot at or blown-up or possibly kidnapped in order to capture history, then he was willing to take the risks if it meant his work would possibly make a difference. Ever since Betty came into his life though, the idea of possibly dying slow, cold, and alone in a ditch just so he could capture a perfect image had become much less worth it to him. Ever the pragmatist though, Jug knew that if he wanted to eat and not mooch off Betty’s salary--which was not meant to support a family of two let alone anything potentially larger than that--he needed to diversify the audience for his work. 

 

Out of the one hundred seventeen photos he’d selected to show the gallery, the owner picked seventy-three for his show with the expectation that he would produce at least twelve to fifteen new pieces to be included as well. While he didn’t mind the requirement, Jughead knew he’d be a little under the gun. During the meeting, the gallery owner explained that the spot he was offering was for an installation beginning the second week of December. The photographer originally booked had the slot for over a year, but between a raging heroin addiction and a couple stints in rehab, the artist hadn’t produced enough work for the show, and the gallery wasn’t willing to risk its reputation on the quality of what had already been submitted. Jughead promised he’d make the deadline work: five weeks was plenty of time.

 

When he finally made it back to their apartment, it was eerily quiet. Even though he knew that his relationship with Betty was on bedrock after everything that happened the month before, he couldn’t deny that the hairs on the back of his neck were on end. 

 

“Betts?” he tentatively called out. 

 

Resting his heavy portfolio case against the hallway wall, he carefully stalked over to the kitchen. There was a meticulously folded note on the countertop with his name on it in Betty’s graceful script. He breathed out a sigh of relief. One of the things they’d agreed on after the whole snafu with Betty’s post-Riverdale letter was that letters could only be for positive, non-urgent matters; anything negative had to be done in person. He grabbed a glass of ice water before skimming through his girlfriend’s note. 

 

‘Juggie--I know we were supposed to go to Cheryl and Toni’s engagement dinner together, but I forgot my first session with Dr. Curdle doesn’t get done until 5:30, so I’ll meet you at the restaurant. I laid your striped suit out on the bed and your dress shoes are by the closet. Don’t forget your socks!  

 

XXXXX,

Betty

 

P.S. Remember to check your pockets before you get to the restaurant.’

 

Just like that, all the remnants of his earlier excitement vanished. He was hardly a fan of parties and even less so of parties that invited media scrutiny, and Page Six had been running pieces on Cheryl and Toni’s upcoming engagement party  _ for days _ . Apparently the Blossom heiress had imported several hundred orchids that she’d had specially dyed to match the magenta ombre in his friend’s hair. Jug didn’t even think Café des Artistes had enough room for all the plants let alone the twenty or so people he knew they’d invited. Having to walk in by himself was already starting to set his teeth on edge and the dinner wasn’t even for another two-and-a-half hours. Despite his own discomfort, he recognized it was for a good reason. 

 

                                   _________________________________________

 

After Jughead’s brief stint living with Sweet Pea came crashing down in a ball of flames, the young Jones man finally accepted that he probably needed to talk to a professional. He’d been casually looking through his insurance plan’s approved list of providers, trying to figure out whether a Freudian or a Jungian was better, when a nervous young man named Marc down in Payroll stopped by his desk. Since he wasn’t expecting any company, Jug hadn’t bothered minimizing his screen and was shocked when the young man said in a slightly drippy, nasally voice, “You’re looking  for Dr. Curdle.”

 

“Pardon?” he said, just as surprised that Marc had spoken at all let alone  _ what  _ he said.

 

“People here have been going to him for  _ years, _ ” he said leaning over a little more conspiratorially.

 

Jughead raised a dubious eyebrow as Marc gave him a knowing look.

 

“Yeah…” Jug made sure to stretch out every syllable that could be found in the four letter word, “I appreciate the heads up, but drugs aren’t what I’m looking for.”

 

The pallid-looking Payroll clerk recoiled as if the photographer had insulted his grandmother.

 

“That is  _ not _ what I meant!” he hissed. “He just  _ gets _ this place was all I was trying to say. And not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been sober for several years, so watch who you toss your garbage on.” 

 

The young man stalked off down the hall toward the elevators so quickly Jughead didn’t have a chance to apologize for his unintentional insult. Feeling like an asshole for how he’d misread his well-meaning coworker’s suggestion, Jug had figured the least he could do was ask around about the doctor. 

 

Unfortunately, since he wasn’t known around the office for water cooler talk, his first few clumsy attempts were met with odd little half smiles but no further information on the shrink. Finally, after a few days, Janey from Ad Sales had randomly stopped by his desk. They had chatted politely for a few minutes before she’d headed back to her office, at which point, Jug realized she’d left her empty Starbucks coffee cup on his desk. He’d let out an annoyed huff of air as he’d gone to throw the empty paper away, only to realize as he’d picked the Venti up that the cardboard sleeve said in neat block print: “DR. CURDLE 212-555-8617 CALL AFTER 3.” 

 

                                    ___________________________________________

 

They’d been laying in bed a few days after clearing up their miscommunication issue when Jughead decided to broach the subject with his girlfriend. 

 

“You know, your sister and I had a lot to talk about during the three hours I had to kill waiting for my train back to the city,” he’d casually thrown out garnering him a half-asleep “hrmm?” from the blonde cushioned against his naked chest. He methodically stroked her hair as he added, “You never mentioned that you got suspended for fighting in middle school…” his voice trailing off as an implicit invitation for her to fill in the blanks. 

 

Betty groaned against his ribs, making him squirm as the vibrations tickled his skin. “Remind me to kill Polly at Thanksgiving,” she groused.

 

Jug turned on his side to better face the pouty blonde as he probed, “C’mon, Betts, you can talk to me.”

 

He sensed rather than saw her eyeroll as she grumbled, “ _ Fine _ ,” while rolling on to her back so she could talk to the ceiling. 

 

“I don’t know if you picked up on it or if Polly told you, but Riverdale is a  _ small _ town. Like even by “small town” standards. Most people who are born there are probably going to die there. Possibly even in the same house they’ve lived in their whole lives,” she began a little morbidly. 

 

Jughead did his best to stroke her skin in the least imposing way he could so as not to disrupt her story.

 

“Our mom is from Riverdale, although she only moved to the “good” side of town after she and our dad got married.” Betty paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “As a kid, I didn’t understand that there was this deep animosity between the Northside and the Southside. We never went to the Southside other than when we’d go to Pop’s, and my mom never said anything about growing up there.”

 

Jughead propped his head on his fist to better watch his girlfriend’s face as she talked. 

 

“When we were younger, I remember our mom being involved in stuff--troop leader, softball coach, homeroom parent—those sorts of things. And she was  _ good _ at it, but she wasn’t so obsessed with everything needing to be  _ perfect _ and above reproach.” 

 

Her voice got softer and he was tempted to lean closer to hear her better, but he was afraid the movement would make her too skittish to continue. 

 

“There was a Fall back-to-school dance when I was in seventh grade. My mom chaperoned. She was working the snack table with one of the eighth graders’ dads. He, along with several of the other eighth grade parents had been drinking before the dance, only he  _ kept _ drinking as he was chaperoning. Long story short, he wound up kissing and groping my mom, and his daughter, Evelyn, saw it. Around the same time, this boy in her class, Trevor, had started hanging out with me, wanting to eat lunch together. I didn’t realize it then but he thought we were dating. Well, it turned out that Evelyn had a crush on him.”

 

Betty gave a deep sigh, causing her to sink deeper into the mattress. As the silence began lingering, Jug wondered a little sadly if that was all she felt comfortable sharing with him. Just as he was convinced she’d fallen back asleep, he heard a small hiccup and looked down to see the shimmery trails of her silent tears sliding down her cheeks. 

 

“She started coming into school spreading all these nasty rumors about me. That I was a slut. That I was destined to be a home wrecker just like my mom.” Betty’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t understand why she was saying all these mean things about me and my mom. Things that weren’t true. At least, so far as I knew.”

 

Jug pressed a kiss to her clenched hand as she let out a shuddering cry. “Then one day I got to school and Evelyn, or more likely one of her followers, had managed to  _ carve _ ‘Southside Skank’ into the door of my locker. The janitor told the principal there was no way to paint over it. The whole door needed to be replaced. Unfortunately, Principal Weatherbee decided the school’s budget couldn’t afford a new locker door when there wasn’t anything structurally wrong with mine.” He suppressed the urge to hiss when her nails broke the skin on his fingers he’d managed to sneak into her palm. Betty suddenly sat up, wrenching her hand out of his in the process. 

 

“It was just so  _ unfair _ , Jug!  _ I hadn’t done anything wrong _ , and yet I was still supposed to suck up the repercussions of her weird vendetta against me like it was no big deal. The next time I saw her in the halls walking passed my locker, she gave me the nastiest grin, and I just....snapped. Somehow, I managed to grab her at just the right angle, so when I slammed her into the locker bank, her bookbag hit the latching mechanism on my locker door and broke it clean off. We scuffled for a few minutes after that, but I was already taller than her by two inches, so I didn’t have too much trouble pinning her against the lockers. By the time any of the teachers showed up to break us up, there wasn’t really anything  _ to _ break up at that point, but there’d been enough witnesses that they hauled us both down to the office.”

 

Jughead wrapped his arm around Betty keeping her held tightly against his bare chest willing his body heat into the icicles she called hands. Her hair tickled his nose a little as he asked, “So what? You got suspended and then your mom went into crackdown mode?”

 

He felt Betty’s warm breath ghost over his nipple as she shook her head while she exhaled, and he had to remind himself to stay focused. Getting her to open up to him about her tragic backstory with her mom  _ was not _ supposed to be some perverse type of foreplay.

 

“Not exactly,” she said quietly. “My  _ dad _ was actually the one who came to pick me up from the principal’s office. I was at that age where I was starting to think I was a grown-up who didn’t need my parents to solve all my problems, so he had no idea about any of the stuff that had lead up to the fight. We’d been in the car on the way home, and he started lecturing me about how he was so disappointed in me, and how he couldn’t understand what would’ve possessed me to pick a fight with Evelyn in the first place. I got so fed up with the feeling that everyone--including my own father--was choosing Evelyn over me for no good reason that I just unloaded— _ all of it _ —on to my dad.”

 

Given that Jughead had met Hal Cooper before, he couldn’t imagine him reacting that poorly. “How’d he take it?” he asked, more out of force of habit.

 

Betty pulled a little away from Jug to look him in the eyes. “Not well, actually.”

 

Her admission caught him off guard and he scoffed at the idea that  _ Hal Cooper _ , of all people, was somehow a hard ass about his girlfriend’s fighting. 

 

The judgment he heard in the young woman’s voice at his disbelief was pointed. 

 

“My dad got drunk that night. Like  _ really _ drunk. He wound up picking a fight with my mom. Apparently, when they’d started dating in high school, there had been a period of “overlap” between my dad and some guy on the Southside who lived in the same trailer park as my mom. Once my parents got serious, my mom broke it off with the guy, but according to my dad, the other man was ‘always the love of her life.’ He’d actually suspected her of cheating on him with this guy a handful of times during the early years of their marriage, before they had my brother. Even though she denied it, I always thought there was something to what my dad said because her denials weren’t her usual ‘that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said’ way of deflecting stuff. It was after that fight though that my mom started going nuts about making sure  _ everything _ we did was perfect and that our family was the epitome of what it meant to be from the Northside.”

 

Jughead held Betty in silence for several minutes before he said quietly, “You know  _ none _ of that was your fault, right?” 

 

When she didn’t respond, he gently held her face in his hands to keep her attention in his direction, even if he couldn’t do anything about her closed eyes. “Betty, we  _ aren’t  _ our parents. You had nothing to do with Evelyn’s dad being an asshole. Or your dad freaking out. Or  _ anything  _ your mom was or wasn’t involved in.” 

 

Betty suddenly sobbed as she opened her green eyes to study him through bleary tears. “But if I never said anything to my dad…” she started to say plaintively.

 

He quickly cut her off with a kiss. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers as he whispered, “We are not responsible for  _ anything  _ our parents choose to do, Betts. It took me a long time to figure that out, and I carried around a lot of unnecessary guilt and rage because of it.”

 

The look of utter despair she gave him broke his heart. “I don’t think I can just…” Betty paused as she struggled to think of the right word before she said, “...turn it off like that, Juggie.”

 

Jug softly wiped away a tear that was threatening to fall from the corner of her eye when he caressed her cheekbone with his thumb. Whenever Betty shared her vulnerability with him, a large part of him cheered knowing that she clearly trusted him in a way that she trusted few other people. He couldn’t deny though how much the initial moments after each disclosure pained him when he repeatedly saw her knee-jerk reaction was to assume she needed to bear all her burdens alone.  He pressed his lips back against hers in a sign of comfort, rather than a display of passion.

 

“Betty, I will  _ always _ be here for you,” he said fiercely. “I doubt I could keep away from you if I tried.”

 

The Cooper woman let out a small sob-hiccup-laugh in response to his over-the-top theatrics. Jughead barreled on. “If you need someone to talk to--about anything--I will happily lend you my ears.”

 

Betty let out a genuine laugh at him choosing to paraphrase  _ Julius Caesar _ in that moment. 

 

“Juggie…” she started to say with a renewed smile in her voice when he abruptly cut her off.

 

“But...If you decide you want someone more qualified to help. Like an actual professional listener and not just your boyfriend, I know someone who’s really good.”

 

The silence that fell over them began feeling oppressive in its duration as Betty slowly processed what the dark-haired man said. 

 

She tried pulling away from him as she said with a slight edge to her voice, “ _ Are you saying you think I need to see a shrink? _ ”

 

Wrapping himself more securely around her to counterbalance her urge to run away from him, even if only in spirit, he said with every ounce of sincerity he could muster, “No. I’m saying that  _ I  _ went to a shrink and he really helped me. I know how scary and intimidating making that decision can be, so if you feel like that’s an avenue you want to explore, I can help make it a little less scary by giving you the name of a really good doctor.”

 

Even though Betty let out an annoyed little huff, Jug knew she wasn’t really angry with him given how she subtly relaxed back into his embrace. He settled himself against her back and buried his nose against the crook of her neck, letting the olfactory security blanket of her floral shampoo and her natural musk lull him into a dreamless slumber. 

 

Although he’d been convinced Betty would ultimately take him up on his suggestion to meet with Dr. Curdle, he still made extra sure to exercise every iota of willpower he possessed not to say anything beyond giving her the man’s contact information when she’d eventually asked him for it a couple days later. 

 

                 *************************

 

As much as it pained him to give Alice Cooper credit for anything, Jughead couldn’t deny that in this instance, her obsession with image and perfection actually worked to his benefit. 

 

When he’d first broached the matter of Toni and Cheryl’s engagement party with Betty, he had briefly forgotten that Betty had only met Toni in passing once and had  _ never _ met his best friend’s less charming other half. He realized he may have undersold the both the importance and the formality of the event when his girlfriend called him from her office several days later. 

 

Jug had barely said “Hi Betty…” before the blonde began speaking as if she was reading from a section of advance copy. 

 

“Ms. Cheryl Blossom, heiress and CEO of Blossom Industries, recently became engaged to her long-time girlfriend, Antoinette ‘Toni’ Topaz while vacationing at the Blossom Estate in northern New England. Misses Blossom and Topaz have been spotted wearing complementary custom-designed engagement rings alleged to feature diamonds worth in excess of three-and-a-half million dollars. No word yet on when the wedding is, although speculation has already begun as to which lucky designer or designers will be responsible for the brides’ dresses or whether one or both will opt for an elegant pant suit instead.”

 

Realizing that was probably his cue to say something, he went with the first thing that came to mind—“Huh. Cheryl said the ring was fabulous.” 

 

“ _ Juggie! _ ” Betty shrieked in response. “ _ You could have told me _ this was the engagement party we were going to! I have the editor of  _ Brides _ stalking me around the building trying to get me to agree to write a piece on the party.”

 

“Well, as long as you don’t make Cheryl look fat in any promotion photos, I don’t think she’d care,” Jug said reasonably.

 

His girlfriend let out a frustrated huff before adding, “ _ Not the point, Jug. _ This is a huge deal. I need to find the perfect dress. You need to get your best suit pressed. You have a suit, right? You might need a new one for this. Something tailored. And a proper dress shirt. Maybe a newer pair of suspenders? I’ll check with the accessories editor over at  _ Vogue _ to see if suspenders are ‘in’ right now.”

 

Jughead couldn’t help it; he started laughing at how quickly the blonde had morphed into her perfect hostess/party coordinator mode. 

 

Betty’s primly unamused silence on the other end of the phone spoke volumes. 

 

After a couple minutes of laughing, the young Jones man finally calmed down enough to say, “Honestly, Betty, I’m going for Toni, and I don’t think she’d care if we showed up in ripped jeans and obscure band t-shirts.”

 

The sigh she let out was filled with something he might’ve almost called disappointment if he didn’t know her better. “I get that Toni might not care  _ in this moment _ . But here’s the thing, Juggie.  _ She might _ later on, when  _ Cheryl’s _ upset about it and it’s getting thrown in Toni’s face that  _ her _ friends couldn’t be bothered to make an effort to get dressed up for a few hours. Or, she could even care  _ now _ , but she doesn’t want to have a fight with one of her best friends over something that should really be obvious,” Betty patiently explained. 

 

He thoughtfully mulled over her words. As much as he’d like to think otherwise, he had to admit she had a point. Cheryl  _ wanted _ this party to be talked about for years. The last momento he wanted to take away from the whole experience were headlines in  _ The New York Post _ screaming “HOBO CRASHES HIGH SOCIETY FUNCTION.” He was only mildly petulant as he eventually said, “Alright, fine. I’ll take my suit down to the cleaners today. I’m not going without the beanie though.”

 

                                __________________________________________________

 

When he walked into the bedroom, he saw Betty had carefully laid his black pinstriped suit out on their bed along with the blue button down shirt he’d worn the first time he ever met her, a black silk tie, and a new pair of suspenders she’d gotten him. As he looked closer at the suspenders, his face split into a wide grin. Betty had gone and bought him a pair of supple black leather suspenders that were embossed all over with tiny crowns. It was honestly one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone had ever given him. 

 

He’d gotten dressed in record time, even grudgingly wearing the black silk-wool blend dress socks she’d tucked into his dress shoes so he wouldn’t conveniently “forget” to put any on before leaving the apartment. Given how well his day had been going and he still had about twenty-three minutes before he had to leave for the party, he decided to have a glass of bourbon and a cigarette to kill some time. As he grabbed his latest pack out of his messenger bag, Jughead remembered the postscript to Betty’s note. Sticking his hand in one of his suit jacket pockets, he found a small folded up note in his girlfriend’s distinctive handwriting that said, “You have no idea how sexy you look right now.” He grinned at her cheekiness. Then he stuck his hand in his other suit pocket and pulled out another note. Jug suddenly felt the entire lower half of his body go numb. His eyes flew over the contents of the note several times to ensure he wasn’t making up the words. Sure enough, in Betty’s flowing script were the words, “If you leave the beanie at home tonight, I’ll let you use your new suspenders to spank me.” 

 

His mouth went dry at the thought of what she was offering. After the night she’d tied him up, they’d sat down and had a much more in-depth discussion on their boundaries. Given her admitted history of self-harming, he’d been unsurprised when she’d told him she didn’t mind a little pain. She’d previously experimented with open-handed spanking and hot wax, but she was curious to try out something more--like straps or paddles. The only caveat she’d given him was that he couldn’t mark her up permanently and he couldn’t break skin. His fingers unconsciously went to his suspenders, his eyes glazing over for a moment as he imagined what the taut globes of her lily white ass would look like imprinted with the embossed crown design on the leather. Jughead felt his eager cock begin to stir, his body oblivious to the fact that that it would be at least  _ hours _ before he could bury himself inside her in every conceivable way he could imagine. 

 

As much as he loved his beanie, he decided he could forego it for one night without having a total meltdown.

 

Grabbing his wallet, he went to put the billfold in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He stopped cold. Reaching deeper into the pocket, he pulled out a dampened black and blue satin G-string and another note. The earlier beginnings of his erection immediately turned into a raging hard-on as he took in what she’d written: “Sorry, Juggie, I couldn’t help myself. I got too wet thinking about you taking a strap to me later.” Jughead let out a harsh breath through his nose. He was faced with two equally unenviable choices: he could either attempt to jack off while in his suit and pray that he didn’t wind up with any stains that he’d rather  _ not _ see plastered all over New York, or he could try willing himself soft. Jughead fervently smoked another cigarette as he desperately thought of every shitty thing F.P. and Gladys had ever done to him as a child. By the time he’d managed to smoke his way down to the filter, he was running ten minutes late for the party, but he was grateful that he was no longer sporting a prominent erection that would’ve invited undesired attention. 

 

                 ********************************

 

‘What possessed me to think this was a good idea?’ Betty thought desperately as she navigated on to the subway car. Her more risqué inner voice unhelpfully piped up, ‘Jug’s cock. You saw his suit and you  _ knew _ you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off him.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘Note to self-- _ never _ listening to my inner voice ever again.’ 

 

The blonde pulled her coat tighter around herself. There was one good thing about going commando--she’d been so focused on not inadvertently flashing Dr. Curdle that she hadn’t had any energy leftover to stress out over the fact that she was actually talking to a shrink. 

 

Jughead hadn’t told her much about the doctor other than saying he wouldn’t be anything like she expected. He certainly hadn’t been wrong about that. 

 

She’d arrived early out of habit and stood on the sidewalk repeatedly checking the address Dr. Curdle’s receptionist had given her. Looking at her maps app, she confirmed the address she’d input was the one written down on the slip of paper. They matched. 

 

As the minutes ticked closer to her appointment time and she was no more confident that she was anywhere near the doctor’s office, she finally decided to call to let him know she was running late.

 

The awkwardly cheerful receptionist Betty had initially spoken to answered halfway through the second ring. “Welcome! Thank you for calling Dr. Curdle’s office. How may you be assisted today?” the almost chemically bright voice said.

 

“Yeah, hi. This is Elizabeth Cooper. I have an appointment with Dr. Curdle at 4:15, but I seem to be a little lost,” Betty said as reasonably as she could manage given her frustration. 

 

“Oh! Don’t worry, dear. We’re  _ all _ a little lost in some way or another!” the helpful voice chirped.

 

Betty tried to swallow her huff of annoyance as best she could before adding, “I think I might have copied down the address for the office incorrectly. I went to the address I have, but I’m standing outside a Chinese funeral parlor.”

 

The voice on the other end of the line suddenly changed to a conspiratorial whisper. “ _ Around back _ .”

 

The young woman blinked as she held the phone away from her ear and double checked she had in fact called the shrink’s office. Seeing that she had, she replied, “Come again?”

 

It was the receptionist’s turn to huff as she expounded, “ _ Come to the door _ around back.”

 

Before Betty had a chance to ask for any additional clarification, the line went dead. 

 

She growled in irritation. “This is bullshit,” she hissed, getting ready to turn on her heel and head home to her sexy boyfriend when she saw a small alley she’d looked right passed when she first arrived. ‘There’s no way…’ the Cooper woman found herself thinking as she cautiously approached the mouth of the alley. As she peered into the gloom, she noticed something that looked like a service entry about halfway down from the street. Glancing at her phone, she saw the time was 4:11. ‘It won’t hurt to check,’ she thought, with what she felt was a surprising amount of charity given her annoyance. 

 

Her heels clicked along the detritus-strewn asphalt with an odd scraping shuffle. Given the closeness of the two buildings forming the alley, the shadows they cast made the October early evening darkness seem even more menacing. The scraping shuffle of Betty’s shoes quickened. 

 

When she was finally within three feet of the door a motion-activated light abruptly flared to life. The light served to illuminate a small brass plaque about four inches high by seven inches long that had “Dr. Curdle--Appointments Only” engraved in delicate script. Betty stood looking at the plaque in shock for a moment before she eventually heard the familiar buzzing of a security door being unlocked. 

                                        ***********************************

 

The whoosh of the subway doors closing was followed by a pre-recorded voice saying “ _ Next stop--66th Street Lincoln Center. This is the 1 train making all local stops. Next stop--66th Street Lincoln Center. _ ” 

 

Betty shifted her weight from foot to foot. She hadn’t intended to stand the whole way to the Upper West Side, but the 1 had been surprisingly crowded. By the time a seat finally opened up at 50th Street, she knew she only had two more stops to go. It didn’t seem worth it to fight the hipster DJ rocking a grizzly, artificial salt-and-pepper beard with dayglo skinny jeans who’d made a beeline for the seat when its original occupant stood up after 42nd Street. 

 

Taking out her phone, she saw she had five missed texts: three from Ronnie and two from Jughead. She opened the messages from Veronica first. ‘B, meeting Archie’s parents tomorrow. Expect you at the Pembrooke by 9:30 to help me curate the perfect outfit.’ Betty smiled. Veronica Lodge had never once needed anyone to help her decide on a coordinated look: she just didn’t want to come out and say she was nervous about meeting her boyfriend’s parents. The next text had the blonde breaking out in a mild sweat though. ‘ELIZABETH COOPER! WHY IS YOUR BOYFRIEND SHOWING UP ON E! ENTERTAINMENT’S COVERAGE OF THE BLOSSOM/TOPAZ ENGAGEMENT PARTY?!’ The third text from her best friend was sent about four minutes after the second. ‘DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IGNORING ME, B!’ 

 

Betty gripped the metal pole she was holding on to a little tighter before she finally tapped out, “Toni is one of Jug’s best friends. Talk more when I see you tomorrow!’ 

 

She closed out the text chain with Veronica and turned to the messages waiting from her boyfriend. 

 

The first was just a picture of her dirty wadded up underwear with a caption: ‘If you’re not careful, you’re going to find yourself without *any* underwear left.’ The implications behind his response stoked the slow-simmering heat that had been radiating from her pussy since she’d left the apartment, puckering her nipples in anticipation of what he might have in mind. It was his second text though that caused her heart to seize up as she read over his simple, heartfelt message: ‘I hope you feel like you can talk to Dr. Curdle. I love you, Betty. I’m so incredibly proud of you!’ 

 

Betty felt her cheeks ache as a blinding smile split her face open from ear to ear. Never in her life did Betty ever think she’d get so lucky as to find a man that set both her body and her soul on fire the way Jughead did. If it wasn’t for the fact that Alice had already tried to blow up their relationship, the young woman would’ve sworn the past seven months of her life hadn’t been real. 

 

It had surprised her when she found herself admitting to Dr. Curdle that sometimes her relationship with Jughead terrified her. He’d just watched her with flat, impassive eyes as she’d poured out her thoughts. How she wasn’t sure she trusted herself not to hurt him. How in the still darkness when he was up working and she couldn’t sleep, she felt herself keeping an ear tuned to any sound that might suggest he was leaving. How she secretly feared Alice was right, that she wasn’t worthy of having such an amazing thing in her life, and that the universe would snatch it away from her when she was least prepared. There had been such a hypnotic probing quality to his voice as he’d asked follow up questions, Betty almost felt  _ compelled _ to build on her responses. 

 

It wasn’t until she was responding to Jughead’s texts that she realized the oddly waxen-faced man hadn’t blinked once during the entire time she was in his office.

 

              _______________________________

 

“You better not be sneaking off, Jones.” 

 

Jug paused with his hand on the door to the restaurant’s vestibule, popping his cigarette between his lips as he turned to face his best friend.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a smoothness they both knew was fake. “But your fiancée promised to turn my girlfriend into a lesbian if I put out any butts in her orchids, so…” his voice drifted off meaningfully as his eyes cut back to the door.

 

“I’ll join you,” the petite magenta-haired woman said brooking no argument.

 

The sidewalk felt stifling as the unseasonably warm October air competed with the subway vents passively releasing unrelenting clouds of steam. Jug envied the sleeveless white ensemble his friend was wearing as the oppressive heat barely phased her. He proffered his pack at her with a vague wave of his hand. Toni started to reach for it before letting her hand drop back to her hip. When he arched his eyebrow at her, she gave a noncommittal shrug before adding, “The things we do for love, right?” 

 

“Is that so?” he lightly scoffed as he put the pack back in his suit jacket pocket. 

 

Jug fought the urge to wince at the withering look she shot him. 

 

“Pretend you’re quote unquote above this all you want, Jug, but I’ve known you for  _ a long _ time,” Toni said dryly.

 

“Your point?” he asked, trying not to come across as caustically as he was starting to feel. 

 

She gave him a measured look, carefully rolling over her next statement in her mind. Eventually, she took a visibly calming breath before she said, “I think, for the first time— _ maybe ever _ —Jones, you’re actually happy.” 

 

Jughead didn’t even try to cover up his derisive snort of disbelief.

 

“Mock it all you want, Jughead,” Toni said evenly. “It doesn’t change anything. Honestly, ask yourself this, if it wasn’t for Betty, would you even be here right now?” 

 

As strong as his default reaction was to deny what she was implying, he knew he’d be lying. Even for Toni, one of his oldest friends, he wouldn’t have dealt with the circus her engagement was turning into through Cheryl’s not-at-all subtle efforts. His cigarette continued burning aimlessly as he left it lit, but untouched between his fingers. They continued standing in silence for several minutes with their backs against the cooler exterior of the building they’d exited. Before long, Jughead sighed and stubbed his ashy cigarette on the sidewalk before he asked quietly, “Why’d you do it, Toni? Why’d you agree to all this? I know this isn’t your style.”

 

The petite woman next to him pushed herself away from the wall before turning to give him a cryptic look. He felt the urge to play with his absent beanie the longer she stared at him, silently cursing that he’d agreed to leave it at home at Betty’s suggestion. After awhile, she shrugged. When he kept staring at her, Toni finally said, “Because she and I  _ talked _ about all this. Before we ever got engaged. Having this ludicrous party was important to her, so I decided it was important to me.” Jug made like he was about to interrupt her, but Toni cut him off with a flick of her hand and a look before she continued, “ _ And _ , we compromised. I said she could do whatever she wanted for the engagement party, but I get to plan the entire honeymoon. Oh, and I put my foot down on having some 6,000 person wedding where most of the guests don’t actually know either of us.” 

 

Jughead was still mulling over Toni’s words when she spoke up again. “You know the real reason though? Why all  _ this _ stuff doesn’t bother me? Because I know this is just superficial window dressing. All the important stuff--the reasons why I love my Cher-Bear and why I want to marry her in the first place--those are the things I know we agree on. Family. Money. Giving back to our communities. Things we want to do with our lives. Planning a wedding is like planning prom, Jug. Only, instead of having a ton of committee members who are just as stoked as you are to spend a crazy amount of time making decorations for a party, you’re either doing it alone or you’re press-ganging your loved ones into doing a crazy amount of work on a party that’s ultimately just for you. At the end of the day, it’s important to keep all that shit in perspective.” 

 

The young man glanced down the street before he had a chance to respond and promptly lost all train of thought as he spotted his girlfriend a couple blocks away. His best friend just grinned as she watched him positively glow the closer the blonde woman got to them. He’d started out as incandescent, but was steadily working himself up to halogen status. Shaking her head with a knowing grin, Toni patted his arm before she went back into the restaurant to find her fianceé. 

 

He was positively transfixed. Her deep crimson coat was belted securely around her waist, although the wide sweep of her cocktail dress’ A-line cut lead a good amount of the black and vibrant emerald green structured silk dress to peek out from under the coat’s hem. The young man watched as she stepped carefully on to a grate to pass by a group of gawking tourists only for a sudden gust of steam to push at the hem of her dress. Although she was able to keep her skirt pushed down much more successfully than Marilyn Monroe, he couldn’t deny how adorable she looked as her mortified blush painted every inch of her face. 

 

Without thinking too much about it, Jughead quickly took out his phone and began taking some candid photos of Betty. 

 

By the time she neared the restaurant, the young man felt like he’d taken at least fifty photos of his blonde goddess. He wouldn’t know for sure until they got home later and he had a chance to check after she fell asleep. Aside from their impromptu photo shoot at Betty’s secret glen back in Riverdale, Jug had come to realize that his girlfriend was rather epically self-conscious about having her photograph taken. He’d pointed the irony out to her one evening when he’d tried to take some shots of her in their kitchen, her hair messily thrown up in a bun, wearing one of his t-shirts that swallowed her like a tent, signs of her recent baking exploits--and his not-so-helpful efforts to assist her--smeared across her face and arms, of how she was perfectly content camming but candid photography bothered her. She’d rolled her eyes at him in mock seriousness before she’d tried explaining that “with camming, I control the narrative. The image that the viewer sees. It’s not really  _ me _ .” He’d smiled and nodded in understanding, but not before he covertly took some pictures of her anyway. On a superficial level, he understood her point. Her outfits, her persona, even what she was or wasn’t willing to do for her audience—it was part of an act, each a piece of armor covering her, protecting her secrets. The thing  _ he _ realized and she didn’t though was that even her costume and her persona revealed parts of herself. She could’ve done anything to deal with her darkness, but she chose a visual, public medium in addition to choosing something that required her to actively engage with those watching her in her intimate moments. No, despite her thoughts to the contrary, she  _ did _ want people to see her. Perhaps not all of her, but then he imagined few people wanted that type of all-encompassing scrutiny. 

 

                      **********************

 

Something inside her that she didn’t even realize was tensed up unclenched the moment she saw Jug outside the restaurant. There was a  slow-flowing trickle of sweat she could see seeping into his shirt collar, and his hair was mussed up like he’d been tugging at it like he normally would his beanie. She knew he must’ve felt like he was in hell. Yet despite that, as soon as they locked eyes, a smile split his face open wide enough for her to see each of his perfectly straight teeth. 

 

The click-click-clickity-click of her heels against the concrete sidewalk picked up as her legs fluttered back and forth like butterfly wings in her rush to get to him. 

 

She had nearly reached him when she saw his eyes glance to her feet before widening in instantaneous panic. The thin end of her heel penetrated through the bars of a sidewalk grate a moment later. Although she realized something was wrong from his expression, her reaction time wasn’t quick enough to overcome the momentum she’d built up flying toward him. While her body continued moving toward him, her shoe had suddenly anchored her to an immovable object. As her body lurched forward, her ankle was abruptly yanked backward by the anklet-secured high heel pinioned to the grate.

 

Just as she found herself thinking ‘ _ oh shit _ ,’ a searing white pain tore through her ankle before she immediately crumpled to the sidewalk. 

 

                        ________________________

 

He’d watched her fall in a perverse sort of slow motion: near enough to realize what was about to happen, but just far enough away not to be able to stop it. “Betty!” he yelled anxiously as he heard a sound that was either a bone cracking or a weird dissonance created by her weight falling against the metal grate. 

 

It took a minute for blood to start flowing back to his legs at which point he fell on her like a man possessed. His hands ran frantically over her head and face blindly searching for any kind of injury. A small puff of air hit the meaty part of his palm as she let out a pained exhalation. 

 

“What is it, Betty? Where does it does hurt?” he asked a bit wildly.

 

He watched the muscles in her jaw ripple as she clenched her teeth tightly. After a long moment, she gritted out, “My ankle, Juggie. “

 

The young man looked at her blankly for a moment as his panicked concern for her safety temporarily blocked out his normal common sense. 

 

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? You came down pretty hard,” he continued to probe.

 

He could tell from the pursed set of her lips that she wanted to roll her eyes at him. Instead, she settled for stuttering out, “The only thing bothering me about my head is the nausea I’m feeling right now. I’m pretty sure I broke my ankle.”

 

The thought of her breaking something as a result of her fall snapped him out of his mental fog. Opening up his contact list, he hit Toni’s number on his speed dial. It took a few rings before she answered at which point Jughead simply barked out, “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

 

A moment later, Toni and Cheryl came swanning out of the restaurant: Toni’s face full of confused concern, while Cheryl’s was nothing but barely masked disdainful annoyance. They both pulled up short as they took stock of the image in front of them--Jughead cradling an oversized ball of silk and waterproof canvas in his lap, while his eyes bounced around his surroundings like a plinko chip. Cheryl let out the smallest squeak of surprise when the fabric ball in the young man’s lap let out a harsh groan of agony. 

 

“Jug, what happened?” Toni said.

 

“Betty was coming down the street and caught her heel on a grate. She didn’t realize it until it was too late and she came down awkwardly on her leg when she fell. It looks like she might’ve broken her ankle,” he replied in an efficient, clipped tone he’d picked up after being embedded with Sweet Pea’s Marine Corps unit. 

 

Toni looked from Jughead to Cheryl to Betty before letting out a deep sigh. “Mount Sinai West over on 59th is probably your best bet,” Cheryl suddenly mentioned with surprising casualness. 

 

Jughead and Toni both stared at her for a moment causing the red head to let out a caustic “ _ What? _ ”

 

As Jughead figured out the best way to maneuver Betty without potentially hurting her further, Toni arched her eyebrow at her fianceé as she asked, “Should I be worried that you know that?”

 

Cheryl plastered on a manic, plastic-looking smile as she replied a little too brightly, “Mumsy and Daddy used to have fights.” 

 

Toni pulled the other woman into her embrace saying, “Oh Cheryl,” as she empathetically stroked the other woman’s hair.

 

When Toni turned her attention back to Jughead and Betty, the young man was trying to hoist the blonde on to his back. Eyeing him critically for a second, she could see the edge of a tank top strap underneath his newly opened up collar. It took her a couple tries of calling his name, but she eventually got his attention long enough for her to say, “Take off your jacket and your shirt.”

 

He temporarily froze up, unsure where his friend was going with her suggestion. The ombre-haired woman rolled her eyes. “You’re going to die if you plan on carrying her ten blocks wearing all those layers. Leave your suit jacket and shirt along with Betty’s jacket with me, and we can bring them up to the hospital when the party’s finished,” she patiently explained. Jug gave her a grateful smile as he moved his wallet and cellphone from his jacket to his pants pockets before he started stripping off his outer layers. 

 

As he started to remove his dress shirt, he heard a possessive growl emanating from the fabric cloud enveloping his girlfriend. He chanced a glance up from what he was doing to find a trim leggy blonde who barely looked older than 21 cutting him a lusty look as she slowly strolled passed their odd little sidewalk tableau. He gave his head a small shake as he briefly debated whether or not to pull his leather suspenders back up. Under different circumstances, he would’ve laughed at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Less than two hours before, he’d been wondering how long they would need to stay at the party before Betty felt it was socially acceptable to leave so they could go home and have some sexy fun with his new suspenders, and now here he was leaving the party forty-five minutes after arriving, planning to carry his girlfriend the better part of a mile to get her to an emergency room. 

 

What would’ve been an easy fifteen minute walk up Columbus Avenue took Jughead closer to forty minutes as he found himself stopping every quarter of a block or so to check on Betty. As brave as she was trying to be by not complaining about her pain, he felt every involuntary wince through the thin barrier of his white tank top. ‘Being a smoker isn’t helping either,’ his inner voice unhelpfully piped up  as he tried not to wheeze through his burning lungs when he’d gotten them a little over halfway to the the ER. 

 

The nurse at the intake desk gave them a skeptical look as Jughead deposited Betty into one of the waiting room chairs as gently as he could manage. After he was satisfied that she was comfortable and her ankle was protected enough that it was unlikely to be jostled by any of the other people around, he walked over to the desk to get a clipboard with the required paperwork. 

 

As Betty diligently filled out the various forms, Jughead rubbed her back trying to transfer some of his excess body heat to her when she periodically shivered. When she finished, he brought the clipboard back up to the desk before settling back in for what he knew was likely to be a long wait. 

 

Betty made herself as comfortable as she could under his arm and desperately tried to ignore the vicious throbbing radiating from her ankle. She chuckled a little as her fingers lazily played with his suspenders. “ _ This _ was definitely not how I anticipated us spending our evening,” she said with a disappointed smile in her voice. 

 

Jughead squeezed her a little closer to his body. “Your commitment to getting us out of social functions neither of us particularly want to attend is truly admirable, Betts,” he said lightly, earning him a half-hearted smack against his chest.

 

He laughed as continued on. “Seriously. You’ve raised the bar when it comes to taking one for the team. I may just have to amputate something to match you.”

 

“ _ Juggie! _ ” Betty squealed in a mildly shocked voice as she tried discreetly wiping away tears of laughter so as not to further encourage his outrageous commentary.

 

The Jones man kissed the crown of her head, whispering softly into her hair, “I love you, Betty Cooper.”

 

She sighed contently, her breath tickling the skin on his neck causing his nipples to suddenly tighten into sharp peaks against the white cotton of his tank top. He growled in response. The last thing he wanted to deal with was sporting an unmistakable erection in an ER waiting room with no way of hiding it in his tailored dress pants. “You play dirty, Cooper,” he quietly chided as he moved his lips to the shell of her ear.

 

An evil smirk briefly skirted over her features. Turning her head, she mouthed along his jaw, “I can’t help it if being close to you like this is making me wet, Juggie.”

 

He tried and failed to swallow a groan that earned him a disapproving glare from a Hispanic-looking grandma sitting catty corner to them in the waiting room with a restlessly sleeping child curled up on her lap. The shame and embarrassment that washed over him at the older woman’s silent admonishment did more to quell his ardor than he realized as he felt the beginnings of his erection quickly evaporated. 

 

Betty laid her head against his shoulder and tried stifling a yawn. 

 

“Tired?” Jughead asked with concern, his eyes doing their best to scan her for some unknown injury despite his limited vantage point.

 

“No,” she said, fighting off another yawn, “Just hungry, I think. I haven’t eaten anything since the veggie wrap I had for lunch at noon. I was really looking forward to the engagement dinner,” she said with a tinge of longing. 

 

Jughead felt like kicking himself. Of course she was practically starving! He should’ve thought to grab her something to eat ages ago. “Do you want me to go find you something?  I could hit up the Whole Foods at Columbus Circle then come right back, if you want?” he offered apologetically. 

 

His thoughtful gesture earned a small, tired smile in return. “Maybe after I get admitted?” she countered. “I don’t really want to risk us getting separated while you’re out and about foraging,” she added with some practicality. 

 

A cramp started developing in his side from twist-leaning over the unpadded arm of the waiting room chair for such a long time. He could only imagine how much discomfort Betty was in between her injured ankle and the hard moulded plastic of the seat. Conscious of not jostling her unnecessarily, Jug uncurled himself from around her shoulders and stretched his arms as far behind him as he dared in the common space. Several of his vertebrae cracked from the extension of his spine and he sighed at how much more comfortable he felt. 

 

“Ms. Cooper?” a young-sounding voice called into the waiting room. 

 

Jug shot up from his seat earning an unequivocal wince from his injured girlfriend. “She needs a wheelchair or something. She fell earlier and possibly broke her ankle,” he rushed out, the nervous energy he’d been suppressing in the waiting room for the past two hours coming to a head.

 

The nurse gave him a polite smile as she gestured for an orderly to bring a wheelchair over for Betty. “And you would be…?”

 

Her unexpected question left him slightly flustered as he struggled to figure out how to answer her. He had barely gotten out “I’m her…” when Betty’s voice quickly overshadowed his saying, “fiance. This is my fiance, Forsythe.” 

 

Jughead’s brain worked through his girlfriend’s words at half speed, individually parsing each syllable that had come out of her mouth. When he finally comprehended exactly what she’d said, he beamed  like he’d unexpectedly found himself at an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Yeah,” he said with a sheepish pause, “it’s a pretty recent development so I’m not used to saying it yet.”

 

The nurse gave him a dry, indulgent look before adding, “Congrats. Now, if you’ll come this way.” She swept her arm toward the exam rooms on the other side of the security doors, the orderly pushing Betty in the wheelchair and Jughead following immediately behind like some kind of odd pageant procession. 

 

Once they were in the exam room, it didn’t take long for the nurse to complete Betty’s medical history and get the details about her accident. With a cordial “The doctor will be in to see you in a little while,” the young woman pulled the curtain on the exam room closed behind her leaving Betty and Jughead in relative privacy. 

 

Jughead was staring at Betty’s slim fingers gripped between his own as he unconsciously ran his thumb over the knuckle of his girlfriend’s left ring finger. Betty gently squeezed his fingers with her own in an effort to draw his attention. Giving his head a small shake, he said, “I’m sorry, Betts. I was someplace else for a sec. What were you saying?”

 

The blonde gave him an indulgent smile as she gripped his hands a little tighter. “I was just saying that I was sorry for springing that on you back there.” When the Jones man just stared blankly at her, she added more slowly, “About us being engaged? I knew they wouldn’t let you come with me otherwise, and I didn’t want to be stuck back here alone.” She started chewing on her lip when he didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem angry, but his silence concerned her. Veronica had certainly given her enough unsolicited lectures in colleges about assuming guys were only around for a good time unless they unambiguously said otherwise.

 

Right when Betty about to break into full panic mode, Jug  planted a firm kiss to her lips and felt her instantly relax. Cupping her face with his hands, he stroked his thumbs soothingly over her cheekbones before pulling away from her and resting his forehead against hers. “I’m here for you, Betty.  _ Whatever _ you need,” he whispered. Even with his eyes closed, he knew she was smiling from how the apples of her cheeks rose. 

 

After spending a few minutes basking in each other’s calming presence, Jughead sat back in the chair he’d initially pulled directly up to Betty’s hospital bed. He gazed at her in measured contemplation enjoying the serene little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth that she always seemed to reserve just for him. Eventually, he cracked a genuine smile of his own as he said, “Good call about the suit, by the way.”

 

Betty blinked curiously at him as she waited for him to expound on his statement. 

 

“I really didn’t appreciate how big a deal Cheryl and Toni were making out of their engagement party. Toni wouldn’t have said anything, but I know I would’ve felt like an asshole if I’d shown up in my usual jeans-and-a-t-shirt look knowing I was one of the few people  _ she _ invited.”

 

His girlfriend just gave him a small knowing smile. “Honestly? As much as I’m not super excited about the prospect of having a broken ankle, I’m kind of glad I didn’t  _ actually _ have to go to the party. V texted me saying it was being covered by E!, and I could almost feel myself start to break out in hives.” 

 

Jug studied her for a moment weighing her words against the echo of his earlier talk with Toni. Figuring this would likely be his only chance to be smooth about it, he casually tossed out, “So safe to say, you haven’t been planning some elaborate multi-day wedding  _ extravaganza _ since you were a little girl then?”

 

The unimpressed look Betty gave him spoke volumes. “Oddly enough, no,” she said dryly. The inky-haired young man let out a hearty laugh in response. When his laughter had a chance to die down, Betty added, “I can count on two hands the number of people I’d want to invite to my wedding. Besides, the whole ‘engagement’ thing seems rather antiquated nowadays. I mean, people aren’t generally getting auctioned off anymore to people they barely know, so the whole engagement-as-getting-to-know-one-another-time seems pointless, and it’s not like I have some vast ancient familial wealth that would necessitate some long, drawn out dowry negotiations.”

 

Betty’s cheeks flushed with a becoming shade of pink as she got increasingly worked up about her diatribe against engagements. Before she had a chance to build up any more steam, Jughead squeezed her hands firmly. Once he saw her start to deflate a little, he said sincerely, “Betts, message received.” Although the utilitarian efficiency of what he took her words to mean appealed to him on a practical level, he couldn’t deny that a part of him wanted at least a little something more than having her meet him at the courthouse and then asking, “So, we doing this?”

 

Before he had a chance to probe her thoughts on honeymoons--he was hoping they were of the distinctly  _ pro _ -honeymoon variety--the discordant clang of metal curtain rings scraping against a curtain rod announced the arrival of the doctor. Jughead’s sense of overprotection started to bristle as he took in the youthful features of the man delicately poking around his girlfriend’s now impressively swollen ankle, and found himself thinking rather disdainfully that the man was  clearly a child and in no way qualified to properly treat Betty. Breathing deeply through his nose, he forced himself to think of all the service medics he’d known throughout his career--some only eighteen and nineteen years-old--and the unquestioning trust he’d been willing to place in their abilities to treat him and those around him under far more extreme circumstances. Having checked his reflexive judgemental attitude, Jughead found himself nodding along with everything the doctor was saying: from running x-rays and MRIs to check for broken bones and any soft tissue damage to discussing whether a knee scooter or crutches would be more practical if Betty had indeed broken her ankle. 

 

The doctor wrapped up his brisk twenty-two minute discussion with Betty, then promised she wouldn’t have long to wait for someone to bring her back for imaging. 

 

Within thirty minutes, a living, breathing security blanket by the name of Job came to take Betty for her various diagnostic procedures. When Jug made to go with them, the orderly gave him a soft clucking as he said, “Sorry, boo. You gotta stay here, but I promise to be the wind beneath this angel’s wings in your absence!” With that, Job whisked Betty’s gurney out of the room, leaving Jug to sit in contemplative silence alone.

 


	17. The Rule of Thirds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betty is beset by well-intentioned visitors, Polly makes a frenemy out of Cheryl, Sweet Pea does Jughead a favor, and Jughead thinks of a creative use for his new suspenders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, as always, THANK YOU to each and every one of you that is still reading this! I apologize for the insanely overdue update!! I hope you like it. 😊😊😊
> 
> Second--TRIGGER WARNING for passing reference to domestic violence. PLEASE CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. If you or someone you know is in an abusive situation, please know that there are people and organizations out there that can help you. 
> 
> Third--a big shout out to JJonesin4! A discussion of ours *ages ago* lead to Polly's discourse on lingerie with Cheryl. Thank you!
> 
> Fourth--I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the ever wonderful Ohmisskate! You've been such a wonderful doll with all of your comments! THANK YOU! 
> 
> Fifth--as usual, this is unbeta'd so I take full ownership of any and all errors. 
> 
> Finally--if you wants to come find me on the Tumblrs, you can reach me @sunshinebunnie. 🤗🤗🤗🤗

After Jughead had left that morning for a freelance assignment he’d booked, Betty had promptly turned her phone off with the blessed hope that she could finally-- _finally_ \--get a few moments of peace to herself, and had quickly gone back to sleep. **Ding-dong.** She’d been right in the middle of a vibrant Technicolor dream about an exotic faraway land when her door bell began to ring. ( _It’s no use screaming at a time like this. Nobody will hear you._ ) Her first instinct was to simply roll over and ignore the discordant sound of the offkey electronic chime. Betty had barely begun to pivot her hips to turn when she remembered her air cast. Lifting her upper body far enough off the mattress to grab one of the pillows beneath her head, she clumsily pulled the pillow free and held it down over her ears to drown out any more noise from the door bell.

 

As she’d fallen back into her dream state ( _ I said come back tomorrow _ ), the squawky sound of the bell echoed through the apartment again.  **Ding-dong. Ding-dong.** Betty ground her teeth in frustration. One day. It was all she wanted. One day to sit with herself in blissful quiet without having to rehash every little detail about how she’d broken her ankle. She reached blindly across the bed until her hand landed on one of Jughead’s rumpled up headrests. With a small smile, she’d crammed the second pillow on top of the first, and began to drift off to sleep again. 

 

Betty had just succumbed to her Technicolor dreamscape once again ( _ Can’t you read?....Bell out of order. Please knock _ )  when the obnoxiously incessant sound of the door bell intruded on her solitude again. 

 

**Ding-dong ding-dong ding-dong ding-dong ding-dong ding-dong.**

 

Betty groaned groggily as she shoved a third pillow over her head. It’d been two-and-a-half weeks since Toni and Cheryl’s engagement party. Two-and-a-half weeks since she’d gotten a segmental fracture in her ankle all because she didn’t know how to walk down a New York City street. Two-and-a-half weeks of being trapped in her apartment with a hyper-vigilant Jughead and an endless stream of well-meaning, but stifling well-wishers. 

 

She’d finally had enough. Short of the NYFD telling her that her building was about to be engulfed in flames, no one was going to intrude on her much needed alone time.

 

“Elizabeth Cooper! You better come open this door! I’ve brought reinforcements, and I’m not afraid to have them break it down.” Betty shuddered as Veronica’s dulcet voice reverberated off the apartment’s walls. That was the last thing she needed: Jughead coming home after she’d fortunately managed to fall asleep only to see their door hanging haphazardly on its hinges all because Nico and Andre listened to their boss. She sat up cautiously and waited for a second to see if her ankle was going to start throbbing before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Releasing a breath she hadn’t meant to hold in, Betty was happy to learn that the throbbing pressure that had been plaguing her for the past two weeks finally seemed to be turning into a consistently dull ache. Putting her uninjured leg down on the floor first, she stretched her arms and reached for her knee scooter tucked away on the far side on what had become “her” bedside table. 

As she got herself out of bed, she momentarily debated staying in the oversized t-shirt she’d taken to wearing as a nightgown since her accident. It was a greyish green with a picture of a huge cobra on it--a souvenir from her sophomore class trip to Great Adventure. Chuck Clayton had bet her that she didn’t have the guts to go on the extreme roller coaster by herself. It took over fifty minutes for her to finally snake her way all the way to the front of the line at which point she was actually shivering a little despite the ninety-eight degree heat having seen the ride fail to build up enough momentum to get over the first crest several times since she’d been standing there. She’d kept her eyes screwed shut for the entirety of the 50.6 seconds she was strapped into her seat, refusing to let go of her white-knuckle grip on the safety bar despite the chirping from two other sophomores seated behind her insisting that “putting your hands in the air is  _ the best part _ !” When she’d gotten off the ride, even though her heart felt like it was on the verge of exploding, Betty had immediately gotten back in the line to go again. Betty had never seen Chuck look so defeated. At the end of the day, when everyone was heading back to the gates to get on the bus to go home, she’d made a last second decision to hit up one of the souvenir shops. Looking over at the sale bin, she’d seen the t-shirt. They’d only had a men’s large left, but since the shirt was marked down to $12.49 from its original $23.99, she’d grabbed it anyway. 

 

Given that V had seen her in much skimpier outfits over the years, she almost decided not to change, but then she found herself vaguely remembering Nico commenting once that he was a leg man. She’d already had one inadvertent flashing incident since she’d broken her ankle; she was not eager to repeat the experience. Rolling herself over to Jug’s bureau, she dug out a makeshift pair of shorts he’d given her before picking one of his “S” t-shirts off the floor. After satisfying herself that there weren’t any obvious hamburger grease stains on it, she threw it on, taking a moment to lift the collar to her nose so she could breathe in the comforting scent of Jughead’s natural muskiness that remained trapped in the soft cotton fibers. 

 

Betty was faintly able to hear quiet muttering in the hall by the time she finally finished getting herself situated back on the scooter and started slowly shuffling over to the front door. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the onslaught that was sure to be Veronica in Very Concerned Best Friend mode. 

 

Between meeting Archie’s parents, a previously scheduled work trip, and an extended impromptu weekend visit from her own parents, Veronica was one of the few people who  _ hadn’t _ stopped by Jones Street to pay Betty their condolences on her injury. While Betty certainly didn’t hold Veronica’s very understandable absence against her, she knew the brunette was unlikely to be so magnanimous toward herself. She could almost sense the impending headache from Veronica’s guilt-fueled excess beginning to form deep at the base of her sinus cavity. 

 

As the door to 3BC swung open, Betty momentarily wondered if she’d fallen into a coma and didn’t realize it. Instead of finding Veronica flanked by her usual cast of Goodfellas extras, the blonde was greeted by Veronica--surrounded by Archie and Polly to her left, and Toni and Cheryl to her right. She lingered in the doorway gawping at the oddity of the sight in front of her for several minutes until her sister finally broke the growing tension with a small hand wave and a “surprise!” Finally remembering the impeccable manners Alice Cooper had bludgeoned into all her children, Betty rolled her scooter back as she waved the five people crowding around her doorway into the apartment. 

 

Even though Veronica had been standing directly in front of the door when it opened, Cheryl somehow managed to wedge herself in front of the young Lodge woman with a brief, but dismissive, glance at Betty’s anti-couture outfit, to lead the column into the apartment. Veronica followed with a surprising lack of theatrics over being leapfrogged in the line with Toni and Polly somehow managing to fit through the doorway together right on her heels. As Archie brought up the rear, Betty was struck (as she usually was) by how much his effervescent attitude reminded her of a puppy, and for once, she was glad--he was a naturally-occurring antidote to awkward tension. 

 

Since Betty had only expected Veronica to be outside in the hall, she hadn’t given much thought to the logistics of how she was going to host her sudden influx of company. However, now as she watched the group spread throughout her and Jughead’s living space, her anxiety began to skyrocket as her instinctive hostess tendencies struggled to make peace with the fact that she physically couldn’t perform her hosting obligations up to her expectations. She leaned a little more heavily on her scooter as a stifling bone-weariness overtook her and she closed her eyes. ‘I’m not responsible for the happiness of others. I’m not responsible for the happiness of others,’ ran through her mind in an odd merging of Dr. Curdle’s words whispered in Jughead’s voice, and she threaded the words through her apprehensive thoughts like a lifeline. 

 

“You’re allowed to set boundaries,” she reminded herself under her breath before saying in a louder voice, “If you guys want anything, help yourselves. I know you know where the snacks are, Archie.” Betty immediately felt lighter as her neighbor bounded up from where he and Veronica had settled on the couch with a comically hopeful look on his face as he parroted, “Snacks?!” The blonde cocked her head toward the cupboards behind her with a smile, and Archie took off like a shot as Veronica subtly shook her head. 

 

She shuffled a little closer to the dining room table before sliding off her scooter and into one of their overstuffed chairs. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the apartment came from the enthusiastic redhead’s rummaging along with the occasional exclamation of “oh man! I  _ love _ these!”

 

As Archie eventually walked back to the couch--his arms overflowing with pretzel sticks, cheese crackers, strawberry licorice, and half a tupperware container of Betty’s most recent batch of chocolate peanut butter cookies--he passed a grateful look at the hobbled blonde before adding as an afterthought, “Jug won’t mind about the cookies, will he?” Betty just smiled. Jughead would  _ absolutely _ bitch about his friend raiding the cookie stash, but she knew it would only last as long as it took him to realize that meant he would have to help her bake  _ more _ cookies. (Her boyfriend had  _ thoroughly _ enjoyed being her sous chef three weeks before once he realized he could not only eat homemade raw cookie dough to his heart’s content, but that it also gave him an excuse to eat raw cookie dough off his girlfriend’s naked body while they waited for the cookies in the oven to finish baking.) 

 

Archie plopped back down on the couch with a goofy look, genially proffering a piece of licorice in Veronica’s direction. Betty bit back a smile as Veronica’s eyebrow disappeared behind the artful sweep of her hair while she simultaneously plucked the piece of red candy from his fluttering hand. Veronica contemplated the confectionary for a moment before she finally bit a piece off the end and began chewing it with an elegance that the young Cooper woman envied. The young blonde woman soon found her attention diverted by the  _ other _ redhead in the room as Cheryl uncurled herself from her fiancée's lap with a clap of her meticulously manicured hands. 

 

“It’s so good to see you up and about,” Cheryl said breezily, earning a shocked cough from Veronica and an indulgent head shake from Toni. Oblivious to the reactions of her comment, she continued on, “I’ve been meaning to thank you. Your klutziness has been such a boost for my brand! If you believe TMZ, I’m practically being considered for sainthood…” Betty fought to keep her face neutral as her eyes scanned the rest of the room. Jughead had told her enough stories of the Blossom heiress’ lack of tact for her not to fall prey to her knee jerk sense of shock, but she didn’t fully trust Veronica or Polly not to jump wildly to her defense. Luckily, Toni was equally aware of the need for a “Cherry Bomb” translator, and quickly jumped in with, “What my Cher-bear meant is that a photographer took a couple pictures of her and I helping you after you fell. Apparently, they didn’t realize we knew you and Jughead, so the headlines were very positive about Cheryl’s apparent willingness to help a stranger. It was a nice bit of free publicity that for once wasn’t dissecting our wedding plans or our relationship...or speculating on whether Cheryl bathes in the blood of virgins to maintain her complexion.” Cheryl preened at Toni’s compliment while casually twirling the ends of the woman’s magenta hair, perfectly ignorant of the apologetic look Jughead’s best friend was silently willing Betty to accept. 

 

Betty was on the verge of telling Toni not to worry about it when Polly’s shocked voice broke through from her spot on the floor in a pool of late morning light, “Wait a minute...Cheryl Blossom? As in the House of Blossom lingerie line?” 

 

Cheryl sat up pin straight inadvertently yanking her fingers out of her fiancée’s hair in the process. Betty shared a sympathetic winch with Toni as the ombré-haired woman lightly rubbed the sore spot on her skull. The infamous Cherry Bomb eyed the older Cooper woman skeptically as she waited for Polly to continue speaking. Polly was perfectly happy to oblige as she continued on, “I love your clothes! It’s part of my ritual—whenever I know my husband is coming home from a deployment, I always order a couple new sets to surprise him with. He especially loves your signature red and white collection.” Betty let out a groan that was echoed by Veronica complaining, “God, Polly! Some of us actually  _ know _ J.J. I do not need that image!”

 

Cheryl ignored their comments as she replied, “Oh, yes. That’s my most popular line. The peek-a-boo lace was actually inspired by Toni—so I could see more of her as I seduced her.” 

 

It was Toni’s turn to groan as she muttered, “And we’re going to have to have another talk about boundaries.” 

 

Polly’s attention never strayed from Cheryl as she contemplated her next words carefully. Just as it seemed she was going to stop at the compliment, she sucked in a breath in a way that Betty knew usually meant trouble. Before Betty could stop her, her older sister said, “It’s just such a shame the line is so limited.” 

 

With the notable exception of Archie, the room held its collective breath as a small twitch started at the corner of Cheryl’s eyebrow and her smile slowly turned feral. “ _ Limited _ ?” the fiery redhead hissed with barely constrained malevolence.

 

Betty had always admired her sister’s ability to stake out a tough position and stick with it—a skill Veronica looked like she was going to try to save her from. Right as her best friend started to say “Limited can have a variety of meanings,” Polly cut off the well-meaning brunette by barreling on with her position. “Precisely. Did you know that  _ none _ of your bras are practical for nursing mothers?”

 

Veronica and Betty simultaneously hung their heads as Cheryl’s predatory smile got wider. As Polly sat watching the heiress expectantly, the redhead said haughtily, “That’s not really the market House of Blossom is aiming at.” 

 

The older Cooper studied the business woman for a second before saying somewhat dismissively, “Well, that seems a little shortsighted.” 

 

Toni and Betty interjected at the exact same time, their voices overlapping. “ _ Polly _ !  _ Why would you say… _ ” “ **Now, Cheryl, be nice…** ” as the insulted woman climbed menacingly off Toni’s lap. She’d barely taken two steps toward the woman on the floor when Archie spoke up around the pieces of cookie in his mouth, “Why aren’t nursing moms your market?” genuinely curious. 

 

All five of the women in the apartment looked at him in unison like he’d materialized out of thin air. Cheryl let out a huff of breath as if what she was about to say should be obvious. “ _ Because,  _ peon, House of Blossom is about making women feel sexy and empowered about their bodies.”

 

The young man thoughtfully chewed his cookie for another minute before asking, “And...new moms _shouldn’t_ feel sexy or empowered…?” His eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to follow Cheryl’s logic. Toni gaped at Betty’s older sister as Archie’s question brought Cheryl to an abrupt halt. Casting a warm smile at the red headed young man, Polly piped up. “ _That’s my point_! There’re _so_ many times as a new mom when you feel like that’s _all_ you are anymore. Like when you go to check on your baby in the middle of the night because they’re crying and then they puke all over your hair. Or the baby weight isn’t coming off as quickly as people said it would and you can’t remember the last time you were actually _excited_ about having sex. Or your husband says he _doesn’t mind_ **babysitting** while you grab a fifteen minute shower or leave for an hour to go grocery shopping.” The four childless women just stared at the older blonde as she continued to build up steam. “It’s like moms aren’t allowed to be sexy unless it’s in that MILF way, which let’s be real, is an unrealistic expectation created by celebrities and porn. But it doesn’t help matters when a great brand like House of Blossom forgets we exist. I mean, peek-a-boo lace is great and all, but it’s absolute _murder_ on chafed nipples when you’re breastfeeding. PVC? That’s a case of thrush just waiting to happen between the increased boob sweat and leaking breast milk. And I _dare_ _you_ to tell me how a breastfeeding mom is supposed to feel supported or manage to put a breast pad into a satin bralette. I’ll wait.” Polly crossed her arms with a definitive flourish as she finally wrapped up her diatribe. 

 

Five pairs of eyes were glued to her like she’d just landed in the center of Betty’s living room in her intergalactic spaceship. 

 

After several long minutes—punctuated only by the rhythmic sounds of Archie eating his pretzel stash—Veronica tentatively said, “So what  _ is _ your solution?” Polly blinked, sun motes dancing around her like she was ready to teleport back to her home planet. Adjusting her retro-looking cream colored headband as she mulled over the brunette’s question, she eventually said with quiet thoughtfulness, “Organic cotton to start with. Maybe even bamboo because of its antimicrobial properties. But not  _ boring _ . Underwear designers seem to think that just because you’re breastfeeding that automatically means you only wear underwear that’s grey, white, or flesh-toned.  _ Maybe _ black, if you’re lucky. Fun patterns? Decorative embellishments?  _ S’yeah right. _ What about unique straps? I know the extra support is needed to make up for the lack of underwire, but do the straps seriously have to be an inch wide solid strip of material? Maybe consider bra straps in contrasting colors to the cup material. Why not a Wonder Woman-themed nursing bra? Remind the world you have damn cool super powers when you have to whip a breast out in the middle of the mall to feed your baby, nursing tents be damned.” 

 

Veronica looked at Cheryl as the fellow business woman chewed thoughtfully on the edge of her fingernail. Eventually, the brunette said, “I don’t have any clothing ventures in my portfolio, but I know good business ideas. If what Polly’s saying is true about the current market for maternity lingerie, I think there’s money to be made there.” The redhead looked over the older Cooper woman with a critical eye for a minute weighing her next words. Casting a look back at her future wife, she said to Polly, “You’re not afraid of me.”

 

Betty’s sister just shrugged. “Why should I be?”

 

Cheryl smiled a real, genuine smile as she looked back toward the blonde. “Other than my darling TT, most people are.” Polly shot a quick look at Betty, who just shrugged back. Before she could respond, the Blossom heiress continued, “I need to have some feasibility studies done. My people will be in contact with your people if I decide to go forward.” With that, the abrupt woman wordlessly held out her hand to her fiancée, who looked at her in shocked silence for a moment before allowing herself to be pulled up from the loveseat they’d originally been sitting on. As Cheryl strode purposefully toward the door, Toni made a slight half-turn to wave back at Betty as she said kindly, “I’m glad you seem to be doing well, Betty. Let Jug know we stopped by?” 

 

The injured blonde had just enough time to wave an acknowledgment of Toni’s words and then the two women were gone. When Betty turned her attention back to the rest of her unexpected guests, she found Veronica looking in shock from her to her sister before finally saying, “Did Polly seriously just insult Cheryl Blossom and possibly get a job in the process?” The younger of the two Coopers thought it over before eventually nodding, although as she continued to turn the whole bizarre discussion over in her mind, it actually didn’t seem like the craziest thing she’d heard of Cheryl doing. Polly was in the middle of doing a seated yoga stretch when she cheerfully asked, “Why would people think she’s scary? She seemed nice enough just now.”

 

Betty shared a look with her best friend across the room, then patiently explained, “Cheryl tends to take things too far. Like when Jug and I came back from Riverdale. Juggie upset Toni. He didn’t mean to, and as you can see, they’re good now, but at the time Cheryl took it very personally on Toni’s behalf.” Polly looked at her younger sister in confusion as Betty tried to figure out the best way to explain what exactly the other woman had done. Before she thought of an artful explanation though, Archie cheerfully piped up, “Yeah, she broke into their apartment and almost set Jughead on fire. Like, actually held a lighter to his sheets while he was still in bed tried to set him on fire.”

 

There was a slightly unnerving quality to the passivity that settled over Polly as she contemplated Archie’s words once Betty wordlessly confirmed their accuracy. Eventually though, she gave her sister a placid look and said with quiet determination, “But she didn’t.” Polly didn’t miss the new look her younger sister shared with Veronica. Choosing to expand on her rationale, she explained in the same patient voice Betty had used, “I get your concern that she uses...unconventional...methods to get her point across. But based on the example you just gave, it doesn’t seem like she  _ actually _ hurts people.” She shot a particularly pointed look at Veronica then as she added, “Besides, I would’ve thought that  _ you _ especially would’ve been all about a woman engendering her female truth and decrying the patriarchal norms of docility and subservience.” The brunette held up her hands in mock surrender as she said with a small smile, “I certainly am. However, I dispute your apparent assertion that one needs to commit felonies to accomplish those things.” 

 

At the mention of criminal activity, Polly turned her undivided attention back to her baby sister, saying in a measured voice, “That’s actually part of why I came down to the City, Betty. After you and Jughead left over Labor Day, Chic threatened to press charges against Jughead. Apparently your boyfriend broke his nose and he was trying to say it was an unprovoked attack.”

 

Betty grit her teeth to channel her inner rage at Chic’s audacity since she was unable to burn off her negative energy through her usual pacing. “I’m sure Mom was all too happy to provide a character assassination reference,” Betty eventually said with a harsh laugh. 

 

Her older sister just shrugged. “I can’t say she didn’t try,” she replied thoughtfully. “But Dad actually stepped in and stopped her.” Betty looked at the woman on the floor slack-jawed until her sister added, “Apparently the two of them really bonded when you came to visit. So he told everyone on the staff who came to the party that, since he’s the majority owner of  _ The Register _ ,  he’d fire them for cause if they went along with Mom and Chic’s story about Jughead attacking Chic without provocation when Sheriff Keller did his interviews.” Betty cut a glance at Veronica who appeared to be mirroring the shocked expression the younger Cooper imagined she was wearing. 

 

“I can’t imagine Mom took that well,” Betty eventually said, suddenly feeling extra tired over Alice’s attempt to get her boyfriend arrested (an admittedly new low), although even more grateful for her father’s support of both her and her relationship with Jughead. Polly shrugged again before she slowly twisted from side to side, cracking her back in the process. “Dad may or may not have been staying in my guest room for a few weeks back in September,” she said with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve seen him so relaxed in  _ years _ .” 

 

Betty let out a full-throated laugh at her sister’s comment that echoed all the way to the apartment’s ceiling. 

 

By the time the last reverberations of Betty’s laughter had died down, Polly had stood up and made her way over toward where her sister was sitting at the dining room table. Pulling up one of the mismatched director’s chairs so that she was sitting not quite catty-corner to the younger blonde, she reached across the cool surface of the melamine table to rest her hand gently on Betty’s forearm. “That’s actually part of the other reason I came down here, Betty,” she said faintly. Betty looked at her sister with a slight cock to her head, suspicion beginning to mount over the change in her older sister’s attitude. Polly gave her a vaguely apologetic look before adding, “Mom sent me to get your car back.”

 

All of the feeling in Betty’s hands evaporated as her brain struggled to make sense of the older woman’s words. “My car?” she eventually managed to say faintly as her mind raced. It was true that she’d agreed to leave her car in Riverdale when she’d moved to the City, but it’d been weeks since she’d driven off over Labor Day and there hadn’t been a single phone call from her mom demanding the Chevy back. Betty had begun to assume that Alice was no longer interested in holding her car hostage. She gave her head a small shake, upset with herself for being naive enough to think that her mother would give up such a piece of leverage so easily. 

 

Dr. Curdle’s earlier words ran through her mind again: ‘I’m allowed to set boundaries.’ Straightening her spine, she sat up a little taller despite having her injured ankle propped up and looked her sister square in the eyes as she said firmly, “I don’t see that happening, Polly.” Her sister blinked at her in confusion for a minute having not anticipated receiving any pushback from her baby sister over collecting the Chevy. About a minute later though, Polly broke out in a radiating smile as she said, “You know Mom’s not going to be happy if I come back without the car.” With a nonchalance that was more affectation than substance, Betty replied, “That’s ok. I’m not responsible for her happiness.” 

 

The younger Cooper recoiled on instinct as her older sister shot out of her chair before eventually relaxing when Polly wrapped her up in an all-encompassing hug. As her sister  mildly suffocated her with her exuberant show of affection, Betty could hear Polly whispering to herself, “ _ I knew everything happens for a reason _ .” Polly finally released her sister after Betty gave her the universal ‘I’m dying’ sign of thumping her awkwardly along her back and torso with her flailing hand. 

 

When Polly sat back in her chair, Veronica turned her attention to Betty’s older sister. “Why you, Pol?” she asked with her typical Lodge directness. The older blonde gave her a slightly blank look until Veronica added, “Why did your mom dispatch  _ you _ to get B’s car? I thought you’ve been living in Greendale?”

 

Polly turned her attention more fully to the brunette as she suddenly gave her a sad little smile. In a watery voice, she said, “JJ’s unit has been on a communication blackout for the past three weeks.” Betty let out a gasp as her sister continued, “There’s just  _ so much _ of him in our home. I was starting to go a little nuts with worry because he was everywhere I looked. Mom found a mindfulness conference being put on at a vineyard out on Long Island, and paid for me to go. Since I had to go through the City, she asked me to get Betty’s car on my way home.” 

 

Betty bit her tongue; however, her best friend felt no such compunction. The Lodge woman’s indignation was evident as she shook her head with a huff saying, “Unbelievable. Alice Cooper is a real piece of work!”

 

The older Cooper gave the brunette a confused look as Betty similarly glowered at her. Veronica caught the younger woman’s look and threw her hands up with a “What?! Don’t tell me  _ you _ didn’t immediately think the same thing.”

 

There was a thin reediness to Pol’s voice as she asked her sister, “Betty, what’s she talking about?” that temporarily left the younger blonde struggling to hold on to the tin shields Dr. Curdle had slowly been working on building up within herself. Betty shot daggers at her best friend while simultaneously running a comforting hand over her sister’s arm. “Nothing, Pol,” she soothed, “I’m glad you were able to attend the conference.”

 

Veronica rolled her eyes in frustration. Her best friend’s incessant need to surround her older sister in a protective bubble baffled her. A lightbulb suddenly went off in her head. Clearing her throat with a perfunctory cough, she said far more sweetly, “Hey Pol, is Alice still baking?”

 

The older Cooper blinked at her for a moment while she processed the change in Veronica’s demeanor before eventually nodding. A small hiccup escaped her as she added, “More so recently because of the twins. She insists on spoiling them with treats every day.” The Lodge woman bobbed her head thoughtfully. A second later, she turned her attention to the red-headed man next to her saying, “Archikins, why don’t you take Polly down to your apartment so she can share your mom’s cinnamon raisin bread recipe with Alice? I’m  _ sure _ Dagwood and Juniper will love it just as much as you do!”

 

Archie instantly popped up from his seat with an eager bounce. Turning the full power of his earnestness to Polly, he said enthusiastically, “Seriously! My mom’s cinnamon raisin bread is the best! You don’t even have to  _ like _ raisins to become addicted to it. Just ask Ronnie!” Polly just beamed in response to the young man’s excitement. With a vigorous head nod, she chirped, “That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Archie!”

 

Veronica waited several minutes until Archie and Polly were safely out of the apartment before turning her undivided attention back to her injured best friend. Whatever sympathy the brunette had lasted long enough for her to purse her lips in disappointment before she chided, “B, you know I don’t wish any harm on Polly or J.J., but would it be  _ so bad _ for Polly to accept that Alice bribed her into doing her dirty work?” 

 

Betty sighed heavily. Normally, she loved V’s directness: it had been such a refreshing change of pace after growing up with Hal and Alice Cooper. Unfortunately, her best friend tended to approach all perceived “problems” the same way: namely, either buy it off or gain its submission through sheer force of will. Betty found herself cracking a small smile as she realized how similar V and Cheryl were in that way. Suddenly though, she felt so  _ tired _ . Without taking any pains to hide her weariness, Betty said “There’s no upside to pointing that out, V. Polly’s already in an emotionally vulnerable place because she’s worried about my brother-in-law. Rubbing it in her face that our mother is shamelessly manipulative and that she was too naive to see it makes me as bad as Alice.” 

 

She didn’t even realize she’d been staring into space until a swish of brunette hair on the edge of her vision caught her attention. Weakly stifling a yawn with her hand, Betty gave her best friend an apologetic half-shrug. V waved her off with a breezy swish of her hand. Before she had a chance to say anything else, she heard her best friend musing, “You know, when I met Archie’s parents, I could totally see where he gets his kindness from. Fred and Mary are like the parents that perfect tv parents are modeled off of. If I hadn’t actually met them, I’d swear someone describing them to me was lying.” B looked at her friend oddly, not entirely sure how her observations tied back to their conversation. She didn’t have to wait long as the Lodge woman continued pensively, “But you’re practically as kind as my Archikins, and Alice is Satan’s Overlord, and your dad is….mostly indifferent?” Even though she couldn’t really dispute Veronica’s assessment of her parents, she couldn’t repress her reflexive wince quickly enough at hearing the description. Her best friend went on as if she didn’t notice the blonde’s reaction, “I just hope Jughead realizes what a gem he’s found in you, B. You are truly a rare breed unto yourself.” 

 

The young blonde woman smiled warmly at her best friend even as she felt her consciousness losing its battle against sleep. She only realized that she had actually started to nod off again when she faintly registered Veronica’s voice saying, “Be a dear, and put Betty in bed,” followed shortly thereafter by Archie crushing her awkwardly to his chest as he walked across the living room to her room. Betty tried to tell him to put her in Jughead’s bed, but her mumbled directive was lost in the sharp, unfamiliar planes of the redhead’s chest. The last thing she remembered thinking as her head hit the cool perfectly fluffed pillow on her bed was that all Archie’s weird snacking made him smell like a carnival fairway. 

 

                                           __________________________________________

 

“You owe me  _ so much _ alcohol for this, Jones,” Sweet Pea groused as he shifted his weight awkwardly from side to side. When Jughead asked him if he owned something “nice” that he wouldn’t mind wearing for a few hours for some photos,  _ this _ was not what he had in mind. Instead of standing around as a piece of set dressing, he found himself standing in the empty lobby of the Metropolitan Opera House, afraid to touch anything, convinced that security was going to show up at any second to forcibly remove him from the premises. 

 

Jughead simply nodded absently as he checked the exposures on his camera before taking a couple test shots and fiddling with his display until he was happy with what he saw. When he looked back up at his best friend, he didn’t even try to hide his snicker at the fact that Sweet Pea had unconsciously worried his loosely knotted tie to the point that one end was comically shorter than the other. The taller man glared threateningly at him even as he adjusted the ends of his tie so they were more even. “ _ So much alcohol _ !” he reiterated more firmly. Jug gave him a dismissive wave as he replied, “Yeah, I get it. Your tab at the Wyrm is covered for the next month.”

 

“Two,” Sweet Pea countered. 

 

The Jones man raised a skeptical eyebrow to which his friend repeated, “ _ Two _ .” The wiry young man let out an annoyed huff of his own before reluctantly saying, “Fine. I’ll pay your way at the Wyrm for the next  _ two _ months. Can we get started now?”

 

“It’s your party,” his friend said with a shrug as he crossed his arms defensively across his chest. 

 

Waving him over to the wide, curving staircase, Jug motioned for the taller man to explore the space. The former Marine just stared at it like he was staking out a defensive position to protect himself from an ambush. Jug forced himself to silently count to ten before he said anything about his friend’s stalling techniques. This was part of why he hadn’t told him more about the project when he asked for Pea’s help. When he’d been hired to do the new promotional campaign for the Metropolitan Opera, Jug was told they wanted images that conveyed “this is  _ not _ your grandparents’ opera” in an attempt to draw in younger, edgier crowds that might consider opera too...stodgy for their tastes. Unfortunately, when Jug had looked through the book of headshots he’d been given for consideration, not a single one of them looked anything other than what they were: perfectly polished people, who could easily find work as awards’ show seat fillers. He was good, but he wasn’t so arrogant as to think any of the people in the book would be able to give the type of authenticity he was being paid to produce. 

 

Sweet Pea had seemed like the obvious answer: he’d worked with Jug on some of his other freelance projects (albeit in a less significant capacity), and he had a unique presence that people tended to notice. The only miscalculation he’d made had been assuming that his friend would be “camera ready” from the get-go. Luckily, there weren’t any performances going on that day, so they had the entire space to themselves for several more hours. 

 

He casually looked at his viewfinder, trying not to attract the taller man’s attention to it, as he mentioned offhand, “So Fangs told me the other day that he’s got a date planned with his grandma’s new neighbor.” A snicker came from the staircase as his friend uncrossed his arms and relaxed a bit against the brass railing before responding, “It isn’t the Korean Pentecostal Christian he’s been swearing was gay for the past six months, is it?” Jughead surreptitiously took a couple shots before he replied, “No, he finally gave up on that guy. Apparently this guy’s name is ‘Moose’ and he’s a detective with the NYPD.” 

 

Jughead crouched down to better track his friend with the camera as Sweet Pea sagged a little more against the rail. His friend was pensive while he mulled over the information the shorter man had just mentioned, his eyes seemingly focused somewhere in the middle distance fifty degrees to the right of Jug’s left shoulder. Several images appeared on his camera screen in rapid succession as he quickly pressed his shutter button a number of times to capture his friend’s expression. After a couple minutes of silence, Sweet Pea slowly slid down the staircase siding until he was sitting haphazardly on the red carpeting, one leg kicked out askew in front of him with his other leg bent ninety degrees to the floor, his back propped up by the staircase paneling. There were a couple whispered  _ clicks _ as the shutter on the camera flickered open and closed a few times in rapid succession. 

 

“Relationships with cops can be tricky,” the contemplative man eventually said. “I dated a cop once--an MP, actually--a little while after I got done with Basic.” Jug looked up at his friend only to find his head resting back, staring at the crystal starburst chandeliers. There was a thoughtfulness in his expression that made the thinner man not want to intrude on his internal reverie. Eventually, Sweet Pea’s voice rang out again only much quieter, so much so that Jug found himself leaning closer to hear, as his friend said, “She was a pretty violent drunk. Trashed the tv in my apartment because she thought I looked at another woman in my unit ‘the wrong way’ at a Fourth of July barbeque. Put so many holes in the sheetrock that I just gave up repairing it and accepted I wasn’t getting my deposit back.” 

 

Carefully, Jughead put his camera down on the floor next to his knee before giving his friend his complete and undivided attention. “I never knew, man,” he started to say, his voice dying off as he realized he didn’t really know what to do with that information. Sweet Pea just shrugged as he continued to avoid looking directly at his friend. “Don’t take it the wrong way that I didn’t tell you before, Jones. It’s not something I like to talk about. I’m over six three. I don’t exactly strike anyone as a domestic violence victim.” He paused a moment before adding, “I only managed to get out of that relationship because I went on my first deployment and she stayed Stateside.” 

 

“Wow,” the young Jones man eventually said, for a moment wishing Betty or Toni was around since either of them would know how to handle something like this. Sweet Pea shrugged again, but otherwise continued to remain quiet in the face of his unexpected disclosure. The two men stayed frozen in their odd little tableau for several more minutes before Jughead started to get a familiar pins-and-needles feeling letting him know that his kneecap was beginning to fall asleep. Gingerly, he stood up, waiting until he was sure his leg wasn’t going to suddenly collapse on him before picking his camera back up. “I’m gonna step out for a cigarette,” Jughead eventually said, after stretching his spine until he felt a familiar  _ popping _ sensation. 

 

For a split second, it looked like Sweet Pea was going to wave him off, but the moment passed. Instead, he patted the pockets of the sharp linen blazer he had surprisingly shown up in until he found his own pack and reached out an arm for Jug to help him up. The Jones man locked arms with his friend, gripping the outside of his elbow for additional support, and tugged. Despite his size and his awkwardly crammed-in positioning on the stairs, Sweet Pea managed to unbox himself with an unexpected amount of grace. 

 

Once he reached his normal height again, the reluctant model asked, “We smoking by the fountain, or under the portico?” Jughead raised an impressed eyebrow at which his friend glared as he added, “Don’t act so superior, Jones. Being a grunt doesn’t automatically mean I’m a moron.” 

 

The Jones man let out a full-throated laugh at Sweet Pea’s reaction. His best friend continued glaring at him before grumbling “ _ Asshole _ ” only partially under his breath. After a minute, the photographer regained his composure. Turning his attention away from the unamused man in front of him, he quickly scanned his eyes over the wide open plaza he could see through the opera house’s large glass front windows. Although the portico offered more shade, the fountain provided some more interesting photo opportunities. When he returned his attention back to his best friend, he simply said, “Fountain.” 

 

Even though the linen blazer had started to rumple from his version of human origami, Sweet Pea shocked his best friend by carefully removing the garment and neatly folding it before he placed meticulously on top of Jug’s camera bag. When the taller man caught his friend’s incredulous look, he explained, “What? I don’t know what kind of shit is in that water. I’m not risking this jacket. It’s the only truly thoughtful thing Midge ever did for me our whole relationship.” The old, more cynical Jughead would’ve passed a crack about his friend’s misplaced sentimentality given how their relationship ended; however, since he and Betty came home from visiting Riverdale, he was starting to get it. If something disastrous ever happened to him and Betty—like Alice successfully brainwashed her into joining some cannibalistic cult—someone would have to pry his new suspenders out of his cold dead hands before he willing gave up such a tangible reminder of their relationship. 

 

Pushing open the doors to the Lincoln Center plaza, Jughead shrugged his plaid flannel shirt back on over his white tank top. The uncharacteristically warm weather they’d had at the end of October had finally given way to a late Fall cold snap, and he was glad to have brought the extra layer. The wool was soft against his biceps from years of wear and always carried the faint smell of tobacco trapped in its fibers no matter how many times he ran it through the wash. He’d never admit it to anyone--except perhaps Betty if she asked--but he’d come to think of it as his own version of Hitchcock’s smoking jacket: an important staple of his wardrobe, even if he hadn’t elevated it to “armor” status the way he viewed his beanie or his leather jacket. His fingers unconsciously rubbed at the unbuttoned flaps of his cuff as he debated whether to close them up. Before he had a chance to make up his mind one way or the other, he felt a nudge against his shoulder followed by Sweet Pea waving a Zippo in the general vicinity of his face. Grabbing the proffered lighter with a short head nod, he pulled his cigarettes out of the front pocket of his jeans and lit one, making sure to shield the flickering orange flame against the periodic gusts of wind cutting through the open plaza. 

 

He took a deep drag of smoke into his lungs letting the nicotine soothe away the feeling of phantom ants marching up and down his arm before he handed his friend back the monogrammed lighter he’d picked up for five dollars at a second-hand shop. His eyes drifted passed Sweet Pea’s shoulder. Given the time of day (mid-morning), and the time of year (just on the outer edge of the holiday pre-season), Jughead wasn’t surprised by the relative lack of foot traffic outside Lincoln Center. What had captured his attention though, was the fact that of the few passers-by there were, at least seven had turned--either partially or completely--to get a better glimpse of the taller man including a pair of college students, an elderly couple, a tourist, a dogwalker out with his entire pooch brigade, and a person hauling an upright bass awkwardly toward the entrance to Julliard. Over the years, Jughead had become accustomed to the fact that people just naturally noticed his best friend because of his height: he was like a walking lighthouse that way--easy to pick out and focus on. However, the effect was usually a bit more muted. Despite Sweet Pea’s complaints about the photoshoot, in his mottled olive green v-neck sweater and black chinos, he looked every inch like a young New York power broker. 

 

Pulling a cigarette from behind his ear like a magic trick, Sweet Pea twirled the tobacco stick around in his fingers for a minute before popping it between his lips and lighting it. Jughead waited until his friend had gotten a couple hits of nicotine in him before he resumed his photo taking. The first few photos he took barely even had Pea in the shot, almost as if the man was an afterthought who’d accidentally wound up in the frame. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to use the images for the commission work, but there was something compelling about the imagery that he wanted to capture--like Pea was so weighed down by his burdens that he wasn’t aware of anything else. 

 

Jug circled around as his friend sat down on the ledge surrounding the fountain, casually propping a foot up in front of him on the shiny black surface. The water in the fountain bubbled soothingly behind his friend, the whitecaps produced by the force of the computer-controlled jetstreams creating a naturally contrasting backdrop to the taller man’s outfit. Swinging his camera back and forth, the Jones man kept one eye on his friend and one eye on the background. As much as he was trying to ensure that he was capturing fascinating images, he was equally trying to make sure that The Met was always in the frame and that as few random people to be edited out later weren’t.

 

They’d been outside for close to twenty-five minutes when Jughead began noticing that he was starting to lose sensation in his fingertips. Taking one last shot, he let his camera swing down next to his hip from his reinforced camera strap before he said to his friend, “Why don’t we head back inside? I think I got most of the externals I want.”

 

Sweet Pea just snickered. “You getting cold or something, Jones?” he asked with a smirk. 

 

The thinner man grimaced. When they’d first met, Jughead had packed light on his cold weather gear, correctly anticipating the blistering Middle Eastern days, but failing to account for the surprisingly frosty nights. Pea had spent two weeks giving him shit for his “lame-ass bitchin’” about the cold until a care package from his sister had shown up with several long sleeve thermal shirts in it. 

 

Grumbling under his breath, the Jones man sniped, “ We don’t all have some inner Canadian we can call upon when it gets cold, asshole.”

 

His best friend shot him a blinding grin in return. “Jones, it’s not my fault that I’m better than you.” 

 

Jughead was on the verge of replying with an equally pithy comment when he spotted a cluster of movement in the middle of the plaza toward Sweet Pea’s left elbow. He shot a coy glance at his best friend a moment before yelling, “LADIES! LADIES!” across the plaza, waving his arm emphatically when a quartet of perfectly executed ballet buns collectively swivelled to look at him. It was his turn to give Sweet Pea a blinding grin of his own as he watched a surprising pallor overtake his normally toasted skin tone as Jug began walking toward the ballerinas. 

 

                                             *********************************************

 

It was after three o’clock by the time Betty woke up, having an overwhelming urge to pee. As she struggled to sit up, she scrubbed her hands over her face with increasing pressure, trying to force her body out of its groggy fog through sheer force of will. Although she generally loved her friends’ good intentions, in that moment, her lizard brain hated them all fiercely. If not for them interrupting her sleep to begin with, she wouldn’t have caught such a long mid-day nap, which in turn wouldn’t have left her feeling like her brain was packed away in cotton balls for storage. For a brief petulant moment, she almost convinced herself that wetting her bed was a completely acceptable response to being so rudely inconvenienced by her friends, until a beacon of reason broke through her fuzziness, reminding her that such a tantrum would only cause  _ her _ more work in the long run and wouldn’t affect her friends at all. 

 

Once she was finally upright, she looked around her room. Her knee scooter was nowhere to be seen. She let out a deep groan as she realized that in having Archie carry her to her room, Veronica hadn’t remembered to make sure her temporary mobility assistant made it over to her room as well. Her bladder felt heavier with every passing minute. Betty found herself faced with two equally unattractive options. On the one hand, she could try bearing at least a little weight on her air-casted foot in an effort to walk the relatively short distance to the bathroom from her room. The other, less dignified option involved rolling off her bed and army-crawling over to the bathroom. 

 

Taking a deep, bracing breath, she swung her legs gingerly over the side of her bed and carefully put her uninjured foot down on the floor. Once she felt her weight was sufficiently stabilized by her foot, she stood up simultaneously putting as little weight as she could manage on the toes on her bad side. When she didn’t immediately crumple to the floor in agony, she tentatively added a little more weight to her bad foot as she slowly took a step away from her bed. Every step she took that wasn’t accompanied by excruciating agony increased her confidence until she found herself managing a respectable limp. 

 

Betty was so focused on not aggravating her injury, she completely forgot the increasingly painful urge to pee until she collapsed heavily on the toilet seat causing a discordant clatter of sturdy plastic against porcelain . 

 

She was still bent over, elbows leaving comically red circles on the pale white skin of her lower thighs from where she was leaning her weight on them, allowing herself to enjoy the blissful feeling of her empty bladder when Jughead’s frantic voice broke through the solitude of their apartment as he called out, “ _ Betty? _ ”

 

“In here!” she called out, wincing slightly as her shout reverberated against the tile in the bathroom, amplifying the volume to ear-ringing decibels. 

 

“Betts? You ok?” Jug’s voice replied much more softly, his face hidden behind the door lintel. Betty smiled: despite everything--them living together for months, him crawling into a bathtub to comfort her, having some of the wildest sex she could’ve ever dreamed of--her boyfriend still wanted to preserve the “modesty” of her using the bathroom by not barging in to check on her.  Even Veronica, with all her attention to decorum, had stopped with such niceties a month into college when she’d forced her way into a closet of a bathroom right behind Betty at the first fraternity party they’d gone to--only to declare later on back at their dorm that “the mystery is gone now. We’re basically married, B.”

 

“Yeah, Juggie! Everything’s fine,” she said brightly, touched by her boyfriend’s thoughtfulness. 

 

There was some shuffling on the other side of the wall that sounded distinctly like Jug sliding down the length of the sheetrock until he was sitting more comfortably on the floor. A minute later, she heard a small sigh followed by the soothing timbre of the young man’s voice as he said, “I got nervous. I tried texting you to let you know I was on my way home, but you didn’t respond. Then I got here and the door was unlocked and your scooter was in the dining room, and I don’t know….” His voice died off. 

 

Betty’s heart swelled to the point of bursting over his concern even as she felt a twinge of guilt about her role in making him worry. Injecting all of her own soothing comfort into her voice, the blonde said, “I’m sorry for making you worry, Jug. If you grab my scooter though, I’m happy to tell you exactly what happened once we’re in the living room.” 

 

                                        _____________________________________________

 

In Jughead’s mind, nothing could quite compare to the sound of his girlfriend’s laughter. Given the intense emotional trauma she’d experienced at the hands of her abusive, manipulative mother, the fact that she surrendered her whole body whenever she found something truly funny astonished him. Betty was attempting to maintain her precarious hold on the back of their loveseat, small tears glistening on her eyelashes as she struggled to say between labored breaths, “I...can’t believe....you sicc’ed a... _ pack _ ...of ballerinas...on Sweet Pea!” He grinned as he watched her fingers scrabble against their couch, another bout of laughter abruptly overtaking her.

 

Jughead gave her an unapologetic grin while he casually stroked her delicate forearm, ready to grab on to her at a moment’s notice in case she started falling off their furniture. “You can’t tell me he didn’t deserve it, Betts,” he added smugly.

 

The young woman tilted her head just so as she pinned him with her laughing green eyes, her mouth pursed in that way he’d learned meant that she found his antics amusing, but was trying not to encourage his lesser angels. He trailed his fingers down her arm to her wrist before cupping her fingers securely against his own. Absentmindedly, he found himself gently rubbing the knuckle of the ring finger on her left hand as he said more seriously, “You know, there was a time when it really would’ve bothered me that Archie carried you to bed.” He paused contemplatively for a second, continuing just as Betty simultaneously started to say his name, adding “But now? I just can’t believe your sister actually tried to take on Cheryl. Aren’t mothers supposed to have some self-preservation super power?”

 

Betty gave him as much of a one-armed shrug as she could manage given her hold on the couch. “I guess her chakras or whatever got completely recharged at the retreat mom sent her off to. Nothing can overcome her protective cosmic energy shield now.” 

 

Jughead felt a small twinge of guilt at the notable snarkiness that was unmistakable in his girlfriend’s voice as she talked about her sister. He found himself wondering if perhaps his lesser angels were beginning to have a corrupting influence on her better ones. In an attempt to display the type of fairness normally embodied by Betty, he tried reasoning, “Doesn’t that seem, I don’t know, a little harsh on Polly?” The beautiful blonde partially draped over his lap gave his knee a small double pat with her free hand before she left her fingers resting against his leg. He glanced briefly at his lower thigh, registering the source of the moderate pressure pressing down on the top of his kneecap, before returning his attention back to her face. Even though he didn’t want to admit it, there was something about the way her eyes seemed to keep skittering over everything in her field of vision  _ except _ his face that lead him to suspect there was more to her morning visit than she’d disclosed. 

 

Although he trusted her implicitly, he couldn’t deny that a part of him was bothered by the fact that she was  _ deliberately _ hiding something from him. He wanted to let his suspicions go, he really did, but he couldn’t stop himself from picking at what he’d concluded was a newly opened raw spot for her. Before he fully realized what he was doing, he found himself saying, “You  _ would _ tell me, right? If something more happened with your sister?” 

 

He immediately knew he’d hit a nerve when Betty went eerily still. It was the type of disconcerting stillness he’d only ever experienced in conflict zones the handful of times he’d tagged along with snipers and their spotters. There was an expectant quality to it, like a bow string about to snap back once the nocked arrow is released. Jug didn’t realize he was holding his breath until his quiet exhalation disturbed the ends of her otherwise unmoving hair as Betty swiveled her head around to look at him with a snail-like slowness. She blinked at him in owlish confusion once, then twice as he watched her with documentarian fascination. 

 

A much longer silence than he’d anticipated began to stretch between them like a gaping maw, each second ticking onward like a tiny bomb waiting to go off at any moment. His skin began to itch with anxiety, and the muscles in his jaw started to lock up as he struggled to comprehend the idea that Betty would  _ deliberately _ withhold information from him. 

 

In all the months Jughead had known the young blonde, there had been an easiness to their relationship unlike anything he’d ever experienced with another person. It was an easiness that compelled him to share thoughts and feelings with her that he’d spent more than a lifetime burying deep under protective layers of sarcasm and diffident indifference, and up until this moment, he’d felt totally justified in his belief that Betty felt their connection just as acutely. However, her sudden reticence to open up to him caught him off-guard. 

 

Right when he was on the verge of huffing at her to keep her secrets, she shifted her weight so that it was easier for her to rest her head against his chest. He felt his heart stutter for a second as her ear pressed against his chest and she sighed. Suddenly, he felt like the biggest ass on the planet. Just because Betty was struggling to open up to him about something right at this moment didn’t mean anything was wrong between them. He closed his eyes and let Dr. Curdle’s earliest reminder run through his troubling thoughts: ‘ _ Things are not always bad nor are they always about you. _ ’ Jug absently stroked the top of Betty’s head like a cat.

 

The surprisingly heavy weight of Betty’s cheek pressing against his chest through his thin shirt was helping ground him in the present when he heard her partially muffled voice say, “Can we just go away, Jug?”

 

“Like, for the weekend?” he asked after it became clear Betty wasn’t simply talking to herself. “We could probably find someplace to go this weekend, if you want. Otherwise, I should probably wait a few weeks, what with Thanksgiving coming up soon and all.” 

 

There was a slightly manic quality to the muted laugh he felt, more than heard, from the injured woman in his lap. Before he had a chance to ask why she found his answer so funny, she said, “No, Juggie. I mean  _ away _ away--like to a little cabin in the woods somewhere. Or maybe we could find someplace in Mexico. You could dye your hair blonde. I could learn to make  _ arepas _ . We’d just disappear and no one would be able to find us. Wouldn’t that be perfect?” 

 

With every word out of Betty’s mouth, he could hear her increasing hopefulness that he’d agree to her off-the-cuff plan--that they’d ride off into the sunset with nary a trace left of their prior existence as if they’d been bustled off into the Witness Protection program. Although it concerned him that she seemed to be falling back into her familiar pattern of running when things got intense, he at least took comfort in the fact that  _ this _ time she seemed to want to run  _ with _ him rather than away from him. A small part of him wanted to bask in the fantasy with her as he found his mind envisioning them alone in an Icelandic moonscape or sequestered away in a tiny apartment in the northern part of Italy--perhaps in Torino or Trieste--where no one would think to look for them. As enticing as the idea was though, Jughead knew it wasn’t realistic. 

 

Having watched both of his parents go on the lam throughout his childhood, he knew one immutable certainty: people only successfully vanished if they were prepared to give up  _ everything _ about themselves. Even though he hated to admit it, he knew  _ neither _ of them could do that. For Betty, the pull of her family and friends would be too much. Jughead wasn’t naive. As much as he wanted to provide everything she could ever need in life, he knew that there were parts of her that could only be fulfilled by her connection with Polly, or her friendship with Veronica, and he would never expect her to throw those relationships away because of him. Thinking about himself though, he realized that while he might eventually be able to make peace with never seeing JB or Toni or Sweet Pea again, he’d never be able to give up his camera. While his occasional attempts at writing gave him a creative outlet, his photography gave him a voice--a voice he’d used to say very impactful things. If he could no longer channel his energies through his camera, Jug knew he’d just become nothing but a cynical husk, and he’d lose whatever redemptive humanity Betty found lovable within him. 

 

His hand fell from its resting place on her head to that spot between her shoulder blades that seemed to be made for him. As he started rubbing her back in slow widening circles, he mused, “I don’t think the world could handle it if we were both blondes,” earning him a small chuckle and a soft accompanying  _ thwack _ against his chest with the flat of her hand. Leaning closer to her, he kissed the crown of her head and whispered, “I can’t agree to go all ‘John Book’ with you, but would you settle for me promising to secret you away for a month on our honeymoon?” 

 

Betty’s head popped up so quickly to look at him that he was lucky not to bite his tongue from her head slamming into the bottom of his jaw. Her green eyes looked at him with calculated intensity before she said, “Honeymoon, huh? Don’t you seem to be getting ahead of yourself?”

 

Even though his heart was thundering in his chest, he gave her the smuggest look he could muster before replying, “Well, since you affianced us without any notice to me, I figured that it was only fair for me to plan the entire honeymoon without telling you.” 

 

A thousand expressions fought for dominance on her face from shock to disbelief, to abject apology and indignation. The surprising amount of plasticity in her face made each emotion seem comically exaggerated until he found himself compelled to kiss her just so that he didn’t burst out laughing. 

 

His girlfriend’s lips melted against his as she responded eagerly to the steady pressure of his open mouth against hers. For a split second, as her tongue snaked its way teasingly into his mouth, the words “Marry me” almost genuinely slipped out, but he caught himself just as he was starting to pull away to ask. He clamped down on the impulse before he ruined everything. He had a plan--admittedly a little flashy and elaborate, and he wasn’t entirely convinced she wouldn’t hate it, but since he only intended to ask the question once, he wanted to do it in a way that she could see was meaningful to him. If nothing else, no one would ever be able to question the depths or sincerity of his feelings for her. 

 

The continued warm comfort of her probing tongue successfully managed to short-circuit whatever higher functioning processing he claimed to possess. He’d been trying very hard to be conscious of her injury for the past two weeks, but it had become increasingly difficult for him to redirect his ever-present carnal urges for the blonde temptress in his arms. Her fingers slid through the soft, slightly shaggy hair at the nape of his neck and tugged on it firmly. Reacting on instinct, he bit down sharply on her swollen bottom lip, earning him a pouty “ _ meowch _ ” that was half moan and half off-guard yelp. 

 

By way of apology, he ran his hand soothingly up and down her leg from her knee to her mid-thigh, gently encouraging her to widen the space between her legs with every pass. Betty had realized she needed pants that provided more coverage than her laundry day shorts after an unfortunate flashing incident involving one of the digital copy editors for  _ Ars Technica _ who’d stopped by the apartment a couple days after Betty had been discharged from the hospital. Jughead had found a ratty pair of painters’ pants that he kept around for when he was working in more remote locations and cut the pants off  above the knees for her. The weekender length afforded Betty the modesty that her own lounging shorts did not, while the more relaxed cut made it easier for her to get them on and off around her bulky air cast. 

 

The oatmeal-colored cotton was papery thin from years of wear and bunched up easily as Jughead’s hand made its way higher up the inside of her leg. Her thigh trembled under his fingers, the muscles quivering from the tension of going for so many days without the release they so desperately craved. She spread her legs wider, inviting the rough pads of his finger tips to trace the sensitive skin at the apex of her thighs. Jug grinned at the hitch of breath that squeaked passed Betty’s lips as his index finger slid inside her wet pussy. “Why, Betts, you seem to be missing some clothing,” his voice trailed off even as his finger slid further inside her. 

 

Betty’s fingers tightened in the hair at the base of his neck, the unexpected tugging on the finer strands creating a sharp burning sensation against his skin. Jughead grunted from the sting even as he felt his cock begin to harden. He crooked his finger like a boat hook, probing the front wall of her pussy for the familiar spongey postage stamp that marked her G-spot. The pad of his finger made contact with the bumpy ridges he was looking for causing his temptress to let out a small squeak as he applied more pressure. 

 

She loosened her grip on his hair just enough for her to lean her torso a little farther away from him as her thighs fell slightly more open like butterfly wings. He slipped his index finger out of her pussy for a moment taking the opportunity to trace his fingers teasingly up and down her vagina, deftly transferring some of the moisture seeping out of her channel to her protruding clit. Once he was content with his lubrication efforts, he reinserted his index finger inside her cunt snugly joined by his middle finger while his thumb began rubbing the firm little nub at the apex of her thighs. 

 

“ _ Juggie _ ,” Betty moaned with a throaty neediness that lit an animalistic possessiveness within him. Her hips rocked forward adding to the sensations he was stimulating within the dual erogenous zones in her pussy, highlighting the effects of the tension he was carefully building within her. She moaned his name again, only the second time it turned into more of a high-pitched whine as it finally died off her lips. He grinned smugly even as he found himself growling “ _ Mine _ .” 

 

Jughead turned his head slightly more to the left so he could get a better look at his girlfriend’s face. Her green eyes were little more than hooded slits as she struggled to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head. There was a small divot forming in her bottom lip from how hard she’d been digging her teeth into it. The combined image was too much for him. He gritted out, “I need to see you, Betts.”

 

Under normal circumstances, the deceptively strong young man would’ve already had his girlfriend out of her clothes and flipped around to straddle him. Unfortunately, their current predicament fell very much outside the definition of “normal circumstances.” Jughead scowled at Betty’s clunky aircast. He couldn’t wait until she could move around freely without the boot. 

 

A small mewl escaped from his girlfriend’s mouth. Betty was caught in that twilight of being almost painfully aroused, yet not being able to push herself to cum, and he was getting irritated about being  _ inconvenienced _ by a medical device he knew she needed. He immediately felt like all the assholes he ever judged for being pissed off their girlfriends didn’t want to have sex when they had their periods. Betty whimpered again and it gutted him. 

 

The fingers that were still buried in her pussy continued to stroke her at a steady pace--more from a reflexive urge to comfort her than to continue arousing her. After a couple minutes, Jug found himself admitting softly, “I’m not sure how I can get these pants off without hurting you based on how you’re sitting.” 

 

Her hand slipped out of his hair and it was his turn to moan from the loss of contact. Betty struggled to sit up a little straighter next to him before her hands dropped to the worn-down edge of the button she’d never gotten around to replacing, slipping it easily through the buttonhole. The ends of the waistband of the shorts the Jones man made for her flopped limply open--ironically making it slightly more difficult for her to unzip them. She clenched her abs using the one pilates move she remembered from the 6:45 a.m. pilates class at the campus rec center Veronica had dragged her to every Thursday for an entire semester because the captain of the water polo team always seemed to get breakfast smoothies with her afterward. The muscles in her abdomen quivered from the exertion of keeping herself folded up until she was able to lower the tarnished brass zipper.

 

The panels of lightweight cotton that were formerly held together by the carefully fitted metal teeth fell to the sides easily, the flimsy cloth collapsing under the unexpected weight of the brass. Her pale, milky skin peeked out from under the drooping fabric. It took all of Jughead’s willpower to keep himself from treating the pants like a stripper uniform and trying to rip them off her like tearaway pants. A deep crease formed in Betty’s forehead as she tried to figure out the rest of the logistics needed to get the pants off her. She tentatively tried rolling her hips from side to side, seeing if the movement could help her shimmy them off. Jughead’s eyes rolled back in his head as his girlfriend’s repetitive motions only succeeded in grinding her pert ass harder against his increasingly aching cock. 

 

After several minutes of Betty’s unsuccessful attempts to get her pants off by herself, she finally conceded defeat with an annoyed huff. The young man pinned underneath her lazily traced his fingers still wet from her pussy gently over her exposed inner thigh. At the sound of his girlfriend’s sharply expelled breath, his fingers stopped and he wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her chest closer against him. Before long, he murmured against the side of her head, “Betts?” He waited a beat. When she didn’t respond, he added, “I have an idea.” Even though she still remained silent, he knew she was paying attention from the way her right shoulder suddenly straightened up against the plane of his chest. There was a mild burr to his voice as he said, “Wrap your arm around my neck.” His skin prickled as the crook of her elbow slowly settled into place against the back of his neck. “Now,” he added, “I want you to cling to me as I stand up. I’ll support your legs, then, once I’m fully upright, you can put your good foot on the ground and brace the knee of your bad leg against the edge of the couch.” 

 

Her bicep flexed as she anchored herself around his neck causing Jughead to let out a muffled cough of strangulation when Betty accidentally cut off his air supply. She loosened her hold on him with a sheepish “sorry, Juggie,” to which he replied with a froggier “S’ok, Betty” even as there was still a small lingering sting in his throat from his windpipe being temporarily crushed. Jug scooted a little closer to the front edge of the love seat securing one arm around his girlfriend’s lower back and the other under her knees. Once he was satisfied with his grip, he held Betty close to his chest as he rocked forward, using the momentum to help propel him upright as he remembered to lift from his legs and not his back as he stood. The whole standing up process probably took less than five minutes, but the young Jones man was so nervous about the possibility of reinjuring the delicate blonde in his arms that it seemed to take four times as long. 

 

Standing there holding Betty bridal-style, Jug found himself errantly thinking ‘Never a convenient threshold when you need one’ a second before she began squirming in his arms. As he tightened his grip on her, a lightbulb went off in his head and he felt unbelievably dumb that it took him more than two weeks to think it up. He practically sprinted off to their bedroom securing the blonde angel in his arms like he was trying to get her to an extraction zone. His mind was so focused on his plan that he barely even registered the young Cooper woman’s surprised laughter as she squeaked out, “Jug?” 

 

It took him all of about two minutes to cross their apartment and get inside their bedroom. As he got closer to their bed, he had to remind himself not to toss her on to the mattress in his excitement. Exercising an inordinate amount of self-control, the young man placed his girlfriend gently in the center of the bed, her feet facing the brass tubing of his headboard. Betty gave him an inquiring look, which he enthusiastically waved off with a “I can’t believe I was so stupid not to think of this earlier, Betty!” Jug could feel her eyes on his back as he turned away from her for a moment, turning back to her almost immediately with a triumphant look on his face, his brand new leather suspenders clutched securely in his grasp. Betty’s eyebrow got even closer to her hairline as she said carefully, “Um, Jug, I’m not sure how a spanking is supposed to solve my immobility issue.” 

 

His rich laughter washed over them as he gave the dishevelled blonde in his bed a smug look. “Cute, Betts,” he said a little more dryly before adding, “Not where I was going with this though.” At her disbelieving look, he said, “Seriously. I’m going to use these and the headboard to create a makeshift traction set-up. Your ankle stays stabilized and I get to ravish you.” If he wasn’t so focused on securing his suspenders to the upper rail of his headboard, he would’ve found Betty’s wide-eyed look combined with the perfect ‘O’ of her mouth absolutely comical. 

 

                                    ********************************************

 

Betty was amazed by Jughead’s ingenuity. It took him close to ten minutes, but in the end, between his suspenders, a rarely-used selfie stick Betty got from her Big back when she and Veronica pledged their sorority, a spare pair of laces that he kept for his fieldwork boots, and an unused pillow sham, the inky haired young man had rigged up a fairly respectable homemade traction device. Before she had a chance to compliment him on his engineering skills though, Jug was divesting her of her pants and securing her cast in the traction sling he’d created. 

 

She was still getting acclimated to the feeling of her hip being torqued open and up to keep her cast adequately supported when her face abruptly contorted into a grimace as she hissed, “ _ Cramp! _ ” Immediately, Jug adjusted the suspender helping to keep her leg elevated and placed a pillow under her hips to take some pressure off. Slowly, Betty’s pain subsided until the only discomfort she had left was a slight twinge that was fine so long as she didn’t tense the muscles in her thigh too quickly. 

 

Once the pain was completely abated, she opened her eyes to see her boyfriend sitting on the edge of the mattress running his hands roughly through his hair. Reaching out to him, she traced her fingertips lightly up and down the base of his spine as she said softly, “Juggie?” 

 

The man in question stopped worrying at his hair, but the young woman couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders sagged as he hunched in on himself. Her soft fingers stilled against his warm flesh as she asked again, “ _ Jug? _ ” 

 

A beat of silence went by, and then another. Finally, just as she was about to call his name again, Jughead’s angry-bordering-on-manic voice broke through. “ _ Stupid! So fucking stupid _ !” he said with a vehemence that caught her off-guard. She was still trying to formulate a response to his outburst when he added, “I can’t believe I’m acting like all those  _ bros _ I judged in high school and college. I’m so desperate to have sex with you that I’m pushing you even though your body clearly isn’t ready yet.” His voice died off toward the end, but the sting of the utter self-loathing lanced through his words lingered unmistakably in the air between them for several long seconds afterward. Betty was almost positive no sound had ever hurt her heart more. She pressed her palm flat against the smooth olive skin at the base of his spine. 

 

“Oh, Jug,” she said in her most heartfelt voice. Betty traced feathery patterns on his skin for a minute, mesmerized by the way his muscles rippled in response to the barely-there stimulation. She considered her next words thoughtfully, eventually saying in a soft lilting voice, “Do you know what I’ve done nearly every day since I broke my ankle?” Her voice stilled, allowing the silence between them to build with tension until she eventually continued, “I’ve slipped my fingers inside my aching pussy and fucked myself wishing it was your cock pounding into me instead.” 

 

Betty smirked as her boyfriend methodically began to uncurl from his dejected position. As his shoulders began to roll up and back, she allowed a thread of lust to wind through her words as she added, “You have no idea how horny it’s been making me, having your body so close to me and not being able to do anything about it. It reminds me of when I first moved in. I was  _ so wet _ around you  _ all the time _ .” 

 

Jughead swivelled slowly around to look at her, his eyes hooded with a dark lust that made her breath hitch. She paid scrupulous attention to his every move, unconsciously holding her breath as he licked his lips with a type of muted obscenity that made the walls of her pussy flutter in anticipation. The next words out of his mouth made him sound like every Big Bad Wolf every fairy tale she’d read as a child warned her about as he said with a seductive menace, “It sounds like you’ve been a very naughty girl, Betty. Riding your hand every day because you were so greedy for cock.” 

 

She whimpered, her hips popping up ever so slightly in a tempting invitation as she skirted the fingers of her right hand up the crease of her hip until she could begin to feel the warm moist heat emanating from her cunt. Just as her fingertips went to slip between her honeyed folds, his commanding voice stopped her with a “tut, tut.” Betty stared into his blown pupils and bit sharply into her lower lip waiting for him to say something else. 

 

His eyes never left her face even as she felt his slightly calloused fingertips graze up and down her smooth pussy lips, every so often sensing his blunt fingernails dragging against her extra sensitive skin. The open hunger in his gaze relit the fire in her body that had dimmed to embers during the complicated process of getting them from the couch to their bed. Her pussy suddenly clenched, the involuntary spasm fueled by her need to be properly satisfied. Jug’s eyes missed nothing. As he toyed with the entrance to her pussy, he mused, “Why, Betty, was there something you needed?” 

 

Betty shivered in response to his teasing voice dropping half an octave lower. Whimpering again, she tried to arch her hips closer to his hand as she shamelessly begged, “ _ Please _ , Juggie. Please, I  _ need _ to feel you inside me.” 

 

He raised one sardonic eyebrow while simultaneously sliding two of his fingers easily back inside her channel. Her hips hopped up sharply from the abrupt stimulation and she keened loudly. She closed her eyes, the better to focus on the explosion of sensations he was creating within her, so she didn’t realize he’d moved even closer to her until a hot puff of his breath rustled the small hairs next to her ear. A second later, a low rumble that sounded vaguely like his voice--although she couldn’t be certain through the sex haze overtaking her brain--said, “Is this what you needed, Betty? Being impaled on my fingers?” Even though she’d been digging her teeth into her lower lip, a surprisingly loud moan ripped its way out of her throat in confirmation. Jughead chuckled a moment before adding, “Or did your tight, little pussy need something else? Maybe it needed to be stretched around my cock as I fuck you good and hard?” 

 

Her eyes instantly snapped open and she turned her head to rapturously capture his lips with her own. There was a slight stutter to his kiss, and she grinned against his mouth knowing the suddenness of her actions had caught him off-guard. He reasserted control over the kiss nearly as quickly as he’d inadvertently given it to her, his tongue purposefully thrusting into her mouth. The rhythm of his tongue dancing with hers complemented the maddeningly steady pistoning of his fingers--each independently fueling her desire for him, but neither bringing her any closer to orgasm. Pulling her lips away from his took more effort than she anticipated, his ardent desire nearly as all-consuming as her own. Turning her head to the side, she struggled to say, “Please...Jug...oh God, yes...that feels amazing...need...more...feel you...fill...my pussy...your cock,” as his lips promptly began attacking the exposed spots on her elongated neck that could make her see stars. 

 

When the dark haired man chuckled again, it was less a sound and more a rumbling vibration flaring along her skin. “So greedy, Betts,” he teased, even as his fingers continued their almost robotic in-out-in-out-press-swirl dance. 

 

“ _ Please _ ,” she gritted, “ _ please, Juggie. _ ”

 

She missed the warmth from his looming torso almost immediately. When she reopened her eyes to seek him out, she found him quickly shucking out of his clothes before reaching into the knickknack box on his bedside table where he kept their condoms. With her head pointed toward the foot of their bed, she had an unobstructed view of the broad planes of his back as he sat up from the table, and she watched the muscles contract and relax with each fluid movement. The longer she stared at him, the more she got the urge to score up the smooth, unblemished lines of his body so that anyone else who had the privilege of seeing him so exposed would know without question he was  _ hers _ . 

 

Betty shuddered under the weight of the overwhelming primal instinct. While she’d dated before, never in her life had she felt such a fierce possessiveness over another person. Before she had a chance to examine the feeling too closely, Jughead was crawling back into their bed with a catlike grace that never ceased to make her mouth water, slipping between her partially immobilized legs as easily as water moves between two rocks. 

 

As he situated himself between her legs, part of her expected him to just push up the shirt she was miraculously still wearing before falling on her like a man possessed. However, it appeared Jug had other plans. Instead of looming over her like some type of avenging angel of death, he sat back on his haunches and gave Betty a luridly obscene grin that made her breath catch in her throat right before he gripped her uninjured leg and held it flush against his body, her hip and ankle melded to his hip and shoulder. His eyes took a minute to seek hers out. He held her gaze with an unwavering intimacy that made her pussy quiver before finally sheathing his throbbing cock inside her. 

 

Even though she was more than wet from Jug’s relentless fingerfucking, her body still felt unprepared for the stretch of him inside her after several weeks of unintended celibacy. Betty let out a grunt that sounded somewhat like “uhngh” at the same time as her boyfriend wheezed “oh fuuuuuccck.” They remained in their dazed state, reacclimating to the feel of each other’s bodies for several minutes, until Jughead went to stretch his lower back and sat up a little straighter on his knees. Between the unexpected movement and the deeper angle, his cock rubbed along a space inside her pussy that had her clenching around him like a steel vise. 

 

“Whatever  _ that _ just was, do it again,” Betty said a little breathlessly. 

 

Jug simply smirked before he rocked forward off his heels again causing his partially restrained girlfriend to moan in satisfaction. “I’m sorry,” he said smugly, “Did you want me to do that, or  _ this _ ?” Right as he finished asking his question he simultaneously leaned forward so that Betty’s thigh pressed further back toward her chest while rotating his hips in a small hula hoop motion. It was Betty’s turn for her eyes to roll back in her head, and for a moment, she was positive that her heart stopped from shock. If not for the fact that she could vaguely feel a tingly sensation in her toes, she would’ve sworn that he’d successfully managed to kill her. 

 

It went on like that for what seemed like hours. Jughead rocking against her at different speeds, tilting his hips to change the depths of his penetration, swiveling his hips in a figure-eight then changing to an elliptical motion before throwing in a hip check move that she swore she saw him do with Archie one night to Sugarhill Gang’s “Apache (Jump On It)” at a bar near their apartment building. For her part, Betty felt like she was thrashing about like some kind of trophy fish being hauled in since the only part of her that could move with any type of freedom was her torso. Her hips spastically popped up and down like there was a toddler under their mattress kicking her in the ass every so often as she tried to chase the feeling of his cock rubbing over her G-spot. She felt like every nerve in her body was on fire. The young woman longed to scrape her nails along his tantalizingly toasted skin; however, with her one leg in the traction device and the other trapped at a ninety degree angle from her body, she was unable to reach his body the way she wanted. Her fingers twitched. In an effort to do something with her hands, she reached behind her with one arm, wrapping her delicate fingers tightly around the fat brass tubing that made up the footboard to their bed. The other, she snaked between their bodies, slotting the vee of her pointer and middle fingers at the base of Jug’s slippery cock, periodically flexing her fingers to squeeze him when he’d drawn even the slightest bit out of her thrumming pussy. Aside the additional stimulation she was able to torment Jug with from her devilish fingers, the position of her hand afforded her the benefit of placing her thumb in the perfect spot to rub at her engorged clit. It was her turn to smirk as she watched her boyfriend’s attention drop shamelessly to the hand stuck between their bodies only for him to let out a low warning growl as she squeezed his rigid cock with her fingers and her cunt at the same time. 

 

Fueled by the challenge implied by his growl, Betty clenched down even harder on his dick with her aching pussy while rubbing firmly on her clit. Just as she was about to fall into the sweet oblivion of orgasmic bliss, Jug rocked harshly against her once, twice, then two more times in quick succession, a stream of incomprehensible grunts and oaths spilling out of his mouth in a surprisingly soothing cacophony of noises as his own orgasm overtook him. As the tension in his body holding him upright began melting him into a puddle of relaxed flesh, Betty’s leg slipped easily from his shoulder down to his hip. Taking advantage of the more open cant of her hips, she worked her fingers furiously over her clit until she felt her body burst into a million pieces, her whole torso jumping off the mattress as she repeatedly spasmed from the intensity of her orgasm. 

 

Neither of them spoke for several minutes as Jug collapsed heavily on top of his girlfriend, Betty not even registering the small twinge in her hip as her cast tugged suddenly on the traction sling when he dropped against her due to the surge of post-orgasm endorphins flooding her body. The spent blonde limply reached up to play with the soft inky mop of hair resting against her still-clothed chest. When her brain finally caught back up with the rest of her body, she found herself murmuring, “Wow...that was...just... _ wow _ .” Instead of the smug laugh or comment she was expecting, she got a muffled garble of sounds that she half thought were light snores. She flapped her hand weakly against his shoulder blade still glistening from the sweat of their sexscapade as she said, “Jug. Juggie. Can you lower my foot? I’m afraid of hyperextending my hip if we fall asleep like this.” 

 

At first, the young man appeared dead to the world, but eventually, after a few more (sharper) thwaps, Betty managed to get the Jones man’s attention long enough for him to quickly release the traction sling. Jughead was asleep against her chest again before her leg even finished coming back to rest against the comforter on their bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you read, please consider sending a vote my way for the BFFAs! Together, Tomorrow has been nominated in the multi-smut and tropefest categories. Likewise, I've been nominated for as an author for smut and fluff. 😊😊😊
> 
> Likewise, thank you again to all of you for reading my work! You're all amazing!


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